


If The City Never Sleeps (Then That Makes Two)

by lesbianophelia



Series: If The City Never Sleeps (Then That Makes Two) [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Capitol!Peeta, F/M, In Panem AU, Katniss is still from District Twelve, Mail Order Brides, No Games AU, The Capitol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 106,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of money and options, Katniss Everdeen joins the Ordered Spouse program for the Capitol stipend. What she doesn't expect is to be ordered, and certainly not by such a kind boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

She holds onto her paperwork tightly, trying to figure out where exactly she’s supposed to be. The train station is more than a little bit hectic, but she sees more than a few of the girls and boys from the train being led around by brightly dressed citizens and feels embarrassed that she can’t figure out where it is that she’s supposed to be.  
Even just that would be bad enough, but everything about this place is incredibly hard to take in. All of the colors are too harsh, too bright, and hard to look at. The colors are _everywhere_ , really. Saturating hair, clothes, skin. She wonders what color her _husband_ will be. How she’s supposed to act if the man that picked her out is some strange shade of purple. What she’s supposed to do if he expects _her_ to get dyed some strange shade of purple once she’s settled into his house. Is that the sort of thing she could say no to?  
  
It’s while she’s thinking about this that she notices the man looking at her from about twenty feet away. She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. He’s normal looking. At least, compared to some of the other people that she’s seen today, he is. His hair is carefully styled, sure, but it’s a shade of blonde that she’s positive is natural if his eyebrows are any indication. Even his suit, which is much nicer than anything she’s ever seen in District Twelve, is almost understated in its simplicity.  
She just can’t quite figure out why it is that he’s watching her. Sure, she sticks out like a sore thumb here, but not so much more than the other people from the Districts. She’s even wearing the dress that her mother had sent with her, and while the blue isn’t close to the vivid hues that surround her, it’s not even tattered or ripped.  
  
Finally, the man reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he quickly unfolds and holds out in her direction.

 _Katniss Everdeen Mellark_ , it reads in careful, almost familiar cursive. When she glances up and sees the way that his eyebrows are drawn together, she wonders if the paper is missing a question mark. Either way, she nods, taking a hesitant step towards him and watching for his reaction.

He’s some sort of hired help, she decides. That would certainly explain the lack of alterations. Her _husband_ must have been busy, must have sent him here to pick her up and have her waiting at the house for him when he gets back.  
So she’s really far too relieved when he smiles at her, but the thought that someone from here could at least _pretend_ to approve of her is a nice one. He refolds the note and slips it back into his pocket, taking a few steps towards her. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he has the chance to, a woman jostles Katniss from behind, knocking her down onto her hands and knees and sending the envelope of documents skidding across the floor.  
  
Someone kneels down to pick them up before she has the chance to chase after it and she feels completely helpless. What happens if she has no forms to present to her husband? Will she be permitted to leave the station at all?  
She’s more surprised than she really should be to look up and see the man from earlier in front of her, envelope secure in one hand and the other stretched out to her. She hesitates but winds up taking it and letting him help her to her feet. His hand is big and warm and soft, not small and cold and calloused like hers. She wonders if maybe that’s why he’s so quick to let go of her and hand the envelope back over.  
  
“I’m sorry. Katniss, right?” he asks in a voice somewhat lacking the Capitol affectations other than the way that he says her name. _Kaht_ niss.  
  
She nods.  
  
“Excellent,” he says, giving her the same smile that he did earlier and digging into his other pocket to produce a receipt that he presents to her almost shyly. It’s fairly basic; _Peeta Mellark has purchased Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve through the Ordered Spouse registry, confirmation code 6483316291810_. She pulls her receipt out from the top of the stack inside of the envelope, sure that he doesn’t want to bring back the wrong bride. He scans it quickly and then smiles, handing it back over. “If you don’t mind my asking, where’s your luggage?”  
  
“It’s . . . they lost it. In District Six.”  
  
He frowns. “I am _so_ sorry. I’ll get that straightened out for you, I promise. In the meantime, can I get your papers?”  
  
She’s just afraid enough of being knocked over again to hand it over. He slides the stack out and shuffles some of the papers around, probably checking to make sure that everything is in order, and glances over one of them for a second before looking up at her. It’s the first time that her eyes have directly met his and she’s taken aback by how _blue_ they are, but they suit him just well enough that she doesn’t think that they’re artificial, like the sort she saw advertised on the train. “Are you ready to get going? It isn’t a terrible drive to the apartment, but traffic tends to get pretty bad after the trains come in.”  
  
She nods and follows him as he begins to lead her out of the station. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at her. She wonders what the man he works for is like. He’s obviously concerned. She doesn’t blame him, honestly. It would be an awful investment, really. Buying a bride and having your worker lose her in the train station before you even meet her.

He pushes the door open and hangs back, waiting for her to go through. She can’t help but to pause once she’s outside. It looks _nothing_ like home, all pavement and spindly, candy colored buildings. It’s much brighter than it looks on television. She almost feels sick.  
  
“What do you think?” the boy asks. She notices the way that he’s examining her and tries to keep her answer diplomatic.  
  
“It’s not what I’m used to.”  
  
“Oh, I can’t even imagine,” he says, and she doesn’t doubt it for a second.  
  
“Are there no trees?” she asks before she can help herself.  
  
“Trees?” he asks. “There are some in front of the buildings and in vases. We have some national parks too, though, and they’re not too far of a drive. I imagine you’ll like those a little bit more.”  
  
She looks over at him and he gives her a smile that’s almost _shy_.  
  
“I will say, though, that the skyline gets a whole lot more interesting when you know which building is which. We’ll have to get you out there so you can see what I mean.”   
  
 _We_? She wonders how much time this boy will spend around her and her husband. She hopes that it’s a lot, because he seems kind and she doesn’t dislike him. Maybe that’s all she needs out here. Someone who she doesn’t actively dislike.  
  
“Is the house close to town?” she asks.  
  
“Oh! The complex is actually – if I’m not mistaken – right behind that blue one,” he says, stepping a little bit closer and hesitating a little bit before his finger stills in front of the right building. After a second, he chuckles. “You’d think I’d be sure by now.”  
  
She looks over at him, not entirely sure how she’s supposed to respond to that.  
  
“I parked over here,” he says, nodding towards the lot. “So, if you’re ready . . .”  
  
She nods when he trails off, not wanting to get him in trouble for being late.  
  
It’s impressive, honestly, how quickly he locates his car in the sea of them. He has her in front of an orange one within a few minutes. He unlocks it and opens the door for her, waiting for her to get in.  
  
“Do you need help with the belt?” he asks once she’s seated, and she wonders if it’s obvious just how uncomfortable she is. She’s _never_ been in a car before, but it doesn’t seem like particularly interesting information, so she doesn’t bother telling him, she just nods.  
  
He reaches behind her to pull part of the belt around and across her lap to connect on the other side of the seat with an almost _shy_ smile. “My brothers hate these things, but I don’t think you can ever be too careful. You know? All right, could you do me a favor and lean forward? Just to make sure it isn’t locked.”  
  
She does, surprised that she can actually move.  
  
“Perfect,” he says, closing the door and coming around the front to get in on the other side. She realizes that she could have probably figured it out herself when she watches him buckle himself in. “How was your trip, Katniss?”  
  
“Fine,” she says automatically and then changes her mind. “Long.”  
  
He smiles as he pulls out of the lot, glancing over at her. “You had to go through every District, right?”  
  
“Right,” she agrees. She gets the distinct impression that he’s waiting for her to continue, but she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to say.  
  
“We aren’t far,” he says after a moment.  
  
  
He isn’t lying. He’s parking in the lot of a tall building within minutes. She’s surprised when he comes around to open the door for her.  
  
“It’s the red button,” he tells her, nodding towards the belt. She locates it easily enough, pressing it and freeing herself. He offers her his hand, helping her out of the car and down onto the pavement.  
  
“Thank you, Mister . . .?” she trails off, waiting for him to supply his name and he looks confused and maybe _disappointed_.

“Mellark,” he says after a moment. “I would really prefer it if you called me Peeta, though.”  
  
She feels her eyes widen. _He’s_ Peeta? But he’s so young! Why would he resort to ordering someone like her so early? “I . . . _oh,_ I’m sorry.”  
  
“About what?” he asks. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I can’t believe I didn’t, actually. I guess I just figured you knew.”  
  
She shakes her head. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” he says, and she’s surprised that he doesn’t let go of her hand. In fact, he keeps hold of her hand all the way through the parking garage and the lobby, only letting go once they’re in the elevator. . Katniss has been in an elevator exactly two times in her life. First to accept a medal for her father and then again to sign up for _this_ and that elevator had been absolutely nothing like this one.  
He presses a button, completely nonchalant. What sort of a life must he live for this to be commonplace?  
  
It shoots up, leaving her stomach feeling strange, like it was left behind. It’s almost _thrilling_. If she wasn’t sure that it would sound absolutely childish, she might ask if they could ride it again. It opens to a hallway and he smiles at her and then begins to lead her down it. She glances at all of the numbers that they pass, sort of astounded.  
  
“Here we are,” he says, unlocking one of the doors and opening it for her.  
  
She looks around, surprised at how _big_ it is. The living room alone must be at least twice as large as her – old – house. The walls are a spotless white. There’s not only a huge black couch but two matching plush armchairs facing a huge television tied together with a black and white rug.  
  
There’s a huge canvas hanging on the wall with a sunset painted on it. She takes a step towards it before she can stop herself. It’s gorgeous, really, mostly oranges with just a hint of red. When she glances over at him he’s studying her, much the same way as when he showed her the skyline.  
  
“Sorry,” she says, feeling her cheeks heating up.  
  
“For what?” he asks.  
  
“I’m . . . I didn’t mean to hold you up.”  
  
“Hold me up?” he asks. “I’ve already seen the place, you know. And I’m never going to get mad at you for wanting to look at a painting, especially not one of mine.”  
  
Suddenly she feels embarrassed about being caught looking at it for so long. “You painted this?”  
  
“I did,” he says.  
  
“It’s . . . very pretty,” she says.  
  
“Thank you,” he says, smiling. “Would you like to see the bedroom?”  
  
She nods, following him down a hallway and into the bedroom. The bed is gigantic, topped with a fluffy dark blue blanket and a tall dark wooden headboard with all sorts of pillows propped up against it in varying shades of blue.  
  
“That’s the bathroom, over there,” Peeta says.  
  
There are three white doors on the wall that he motions to, and just outside of the two that are closer together is a huge dresser that matches the headboard, complete with a mirror above it. A silver picture frame rests on top of it, proudly displaying a picture of three blonde haired boys that she can’t quite make out.  
  
“Are you hungry?” he asks.  
  
“Sort of,” she admits.  
  
“I have some steaks marinating in the refrigerator,” he says. “I’ll go get them started.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” she says, but the way that he looks at her makes it clear that he thinks that he does.

She follows him into the kitchen, amazed at how shiny everything is. He starts to pull things out of the tall icebox that must be the _refrigerator_ that he mentioned.  
  
He turns and gives her a small smile. “You don’t have to stay in here with me, you know.”  
  
She freezes.  
  
“Not that you _can’t_ ,” he hurries to amend. “You just don’t have to. You can go find something to watch on TV if you want to.”  
  
She heads for the living room, and she means to try to figure out how to use the remote, she really does. She just doesn’t get around to it. She winds up just taking her boots off and curling up on the couch, head on the armrest. Her eyelids are heavy within moments and she’s most of the way asleep when she feels a blanket settle around her and she’s just tired enough not to look up.  
She thinks she murmurs _thanks_. At least, she hopes that she does. 

* * *

  
When she wakes up, she sees that it’s the quilt she noticed in the bedroom around her. She stands up and folds it carefully before she drapes it over the back of the couch.  
  
She heads for the kitchen next, not surprised that Peeta is still in there, humming to himself as he works on stirring something on the stove. She watches him for a moment, alternating looking between his back and the table full of food behind her.  
  
“Can I help with anything?” she asks.

He actually _jumps_ , taking a moment to take the saucepan off of the heat before he turns to face her.  
  
“You’re very quiet,” he says.  
  
“Sorry,” she says and he frowns.  
  
“It’s not a bad thing. And everything is actually pretty much done in here. I was just heating up the béarnaise sauce.”  
  
She nods, opting to pretend like she knows what that is rather than making him explain it to her.  
  
It’s quiet for a moment. She tries desperately to remember the advice that one of the girls from District Four had given her on the train. She said that it was twelve years of lessons condensed into one. _Make him like you_.  
  
“You . . . um . . . you said you had brothers?” she asks.  
  
“Two,” he says. “Dylan and Ryan, but everyone calls him _Rye_ , like the bread.”  
  
“You’re the oldest?” she asks.  
  
“Oh, no, I’m the youngest. They still tease me about being the baby, actually, even though we’re all only a few years apart.”  
  
She examines him for a moment. He’s so tall and stocky that it’s hard to imagine anyone teasing him at all, let alone about something like that.  
  
“They can’t wait to meet you, you know. It was hard to convince them to let me come to the station by myself,” he chuckles.  
  
As she listens, she realizes that there’s something different about his accent compared to the other ones that she’s heard today. It’s a little bit fainter and underneath all of the silly affectations it almost sounds like there’s a hint of the drawl that she’s used to from home. She tells herself that she’s being ridiculous.  
  
“What about you?” Peeta asks. “Do you have any siblings?”  
  
She closes her eyes, remembering the way that Prim had sobbed when the Peacekeepers came to collect her.  
 _  
Katniss! You can’t leave!  
_  
“I am _so_ sorry,” he says. “You don’t have to answer that. I wasn’t thinking at all.”    
  
“A sister,” Katniss forces the words out, her voice shaky.  
  
“Please. _Please_ don’t feel like you have to answer that. I really shouldn’t have asked,” he says. “What can I get you to drink?”  
  
“Water would be good,” she says, sitting down in the chair he pulls out for her. He’s back in a moment with a glass of water for her and starts to fill her plate, starting with the steak and then going through each of the sides that he’s made, sure to tell her what they are.  
  
“Macaroni and cheese,” he says, and there’s absolutely nothing condescending about it, but she’s grateful because she’s never had it before in her life. “Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like. Okay?”  
  
She nods, but by the time her plate is full almost to the point of overflowing, she hasn’t come across anything that she would even dream of saying _no_ to.  
  
Other than that, he doesn’t really speak during dinner. She’s positive that she’s ruined everything. That she should have just gotten over it and told him about Prim.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep earlier,” she says by way of apology and he smiles at her.  
  
“With the trip that you’ve had, I doubt that anyone could fault you for being tired. If you don’t want to sleep in that dress tonight, you’re more than welcome to any of my clothes. We’ll get you some clothes that you don’t have to swim in, but in the meantime . . .”  
  
“Thank you,” she says.  
  
“Oh, of course,” Peeta smiles, as if she could have expected him to be so generous. “There’s a shower in the bathroom, too, if you want to use it. There are some towels hanging up.”  
  
“Thank you,” she says again and he nods.  
  
“You can go ahead and start getting ready for bed, if you’d like,” he says.  
  
“Are you sure?” Katniss asks. “It’s pretty early. I can stay up.”  
  
He smiles. “Don’t be silly. What time is it in the time zone you’re used to? Midnight? One in the morning?”  
  
She shrugs, looking over at the kitchen clock that displays _7:15_ and feeling ridiculous.  
  
“There’s a toothbrush on the counter for you, too,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind sharing toothpaste.”  
  
The thought of being alone –if only for a few moments – is just nice enough that she thanks him and heads for the bedroom.  
  
  
His closet is enormous. Almost as big as her old room, she thinks, the one that she shared with her mother and sister. It’s _filled_ with clothes, too. There are four suit jackets in the back, like the one that he had worn earlier today.  
She winds up finding a red plaid flannel shirt hanging up and tugs it down. Her father had had one like it, though it was much more worn by the time it was passed down to Katniss. She had even packed it, but it doesn’t do her much good now, lost somewhere in District Six’s train station. She digs through the drawers until she comes across a pair of black pants with a drawstring. She changes first, pulling the string as tight as she can when she ties it. She winds up hoisting the waist up above her belly button, but the bottoms still pool at her feet. The shirt comes down to her thighs, but as much as she would hate to admit it, it’s more comfortable than the dress.  
  
She feels ridiculous, but she sits down on the floor in front of her mother’s dress and she _cries_ long and hard and probably far too loudly. She cries for her sister and for her mother and for the Hawthornes. She cries for the bag of clothing that she lost and for the plant book that she had left at home in the first place and she cries for the fact that her last name isn’t _Everdeen_ anymore.  
She finally realizes that Peeta will want to use his bathroom eventually and stares up at the ceiling until she manages to calm herself down enough.  
  
She brushes her teeth next, having a little bit of trouble getting it out of the package, and squeezes some of Peeta’s _toothpaste_ onto it, cleaning her teeth and refusing to look at herself in the mirror until she’s finished. Her face is red and puffy even after she washes it, but there’s nothing else she can do.

Peeta has already remade the bed and changed into his pajamas when she finally emerges and he’s crouched in front of the dresser, going through one of the drawers that she had closed as soon as she realized that it didn’t have clothing in it.  
He looks up at her and offers her a smile, but it’s just weak enough that she knows that he knows what she was doing in there.  
  
“Did you find everything okay?” he asks, and she’s more relieved than she should be that he doesn’t ask if she’s okay.  
  
“Yeah, I did,” she says. “Thank you.”  
  
He nods and pulls whatever it was he looking for from the drawer.  
  
“I’m glad,” he says, nudging it closed with his knee. It’s when he opens the device on the dresser that she realizes that it’s there – and that it most definitely wasn’t before. He pulls a disk from the case he retrieved and pops it into place. The second that he closes the device again, music begins to play.

“Folk music,” he explains, glancing between her and the player. “My father really likes it.”  
  
She nods dumbly, wondering what he’s getting at.  
  
“I just need to grab a pillow and then I’ll be out of your hair,” he announces, heading for the bed.  
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“I just need to grab a pillow,” he reiterates.  
  
She shakes her head, unable to understand why in the world he would go to the trouble of setting up music to fall asleep to if he doesn’t intend to stay to listen to it. “No.”  
  
“No?” he asks, looking almost amused.  
  
“Stay in here,” she says. “I can sleep on the couch.”  
  
“I am _not_ making you sleep on the couch. Especially not on your first night here,” he says, and she can’t believe the words she’s about to say but she says them anyway.

“Then stay in here with me.”  
  
A smile plays on his lips. “Are you sure?”  
  
She nods.  
  
“Because if you aren’t –”  
  
“I am,” she says, her voice slightly more harsh than she means for it to be because she’s nowhere near sure and it would be almost alarmingly easy for him to talk her out of it. “Thank you for the clothes.”  
  
He chuckles. “Don’t mention it. In fact, you should keep them.”  
  
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she says, shaking her head.  
  
“I insist,” Peeta says. “That shirt looks much better on you.”  
  
She reaches down and plays with the hem. “Then goodnight, I guess.”   
  
“Goodnight,” he agrees with a smile. He pulls the blanket back for her on his way to the bathroom and she settles in while he’s in there.  
  
Now that she’s really listening to it, the music is strangely soothing. The guitar sounds almost like one of the songs that would be played at the Harvest Festival, but not enough to make her heart ache.   
  
Her eyes are closed when she hears the bathroom door open, but she notices the difference when Peeta turns the light out and joins her in the bed. He doesn’t say anything for such a long time that she’s nearly sure that he’s asleep until he sighs.  
  
“I really hope you can like it here, Katniss,” he says, his voice so gentle and kind that she feels the tears pricking at her eyes again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Peeta’s side of the bed is empty when she wakes up. On some level, she realizes that this means that he’s probably wanting for her to get up. That isn’t enough to convince her, though. She rolls over and stretches out into the now-empty space. It still contains just a whisper of Peeta’s body heat, but it’s almost nice. She buries her face in her pillow and pulls the quilt up over her head to block out the little bit of light streaming in through the closed blinds.  
  
She’s asleep again within moments.  
  
It’s not that Peeta was hard to share a bed with. He was asleep before long and spent the rest of the night that way. He didn’t say anything when her feet brushed up against his legs in the middle of the night, but she felt bad enough about it to curl up into a ball on her side and stay there all night long.  
  
When she wakes up again, it’s because she hears the bathroom door shutting. She sits up and sees Peeta making his way out. He freezes when he sees her, as if he’s been caught doing something that he shouldn’t have been.  
He’s already dressed – albeit much more casually than he was when he picked her up. He’s wearing jeans and a light blue button-down shirt. His hair isn’t styled the way that it was yesterday, either. Now she can see the way that it curls almost haphazardly. It’s sort of _cute_ , she realizes.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice just barely over a whisper. “I just wanted to put my contacts in.”  
  
 _Contacts_? She shakes her head, trying to decide that it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “What time is it?”  
  
“Almost eleven,” he says. “But don’t get up on my account.”  
  
“I’m up,” she assures him, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Her days didn’t have much significance on the train, but she can’t remember the last time that she ever slept for so long in her life.  
  
“Well, there’s no rush,” he says. “But I did make cinnamon rolls.”  
  
It’s decided, then. She’s getting up. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
It isn’t until she’s in the middle of brushing her teeth that she remembers that she left her dress on the bathroom floor, and that’s only because it’s not there anymore.  
  
She wonders what, exactly, it would take to convince him that she didn’t leave it there because she forgot, just that she meant to wear it in the morning. It’s not that much of a stretch, either. She doesn’t exactly have anything else to change into and on top of that, she has no idea at all where she should have put her dress.  
  
Besides, if she’s being honest, she does like a shirt. Probably more than she really should. But he offered it to her, whether or not he was being genuine when he said that he liked it on her. And it’s not like she has a lot of clothing options, anyway, so she’s going to keep it. 

  
Peeta is waiting for her in the kitchen. There’s a dish in front of him filled with what must be his _cinnamon rolls_ and they’re absolutely gorgeous.  
  
“How many do you want?” he asks after a moment, and when she turns to face him and sees the plates and forks in front of him, she’s embarrassed for some reason.   
  
“Um . . .” she trails off.  
  
“Two to start off with, then,” he says cheerfully, dishing two of them out and then setting the plate in front of the chair she sat in at dinner. She notices that there’s already a glass of water waiting for her as she sits down and is surprised by how sweet the gesture is.  
  
“I have some good news,” he says after he’s put a couple of the rolls on his plate. “I called the train station in District Six this morning. It turns out that they found your bag just a little while after you transferred trains and just needed someone to claim it so they knew where it was going. So I was able to get that done for you.”  
  
She’s impressed, honestly. Tracking down that number couldn’t have been easy and even if it was, it must have been one of the first things he did when he woke up. That and making breakfast for her. “Thank you,” she manages after she’s finally swallowed her bite.  
  
“Oh, you might not want to thank me yet,” he says, which is enough to make her stomach drop before she hears the rest of what he’s saying. “They put the bag on the next train headed our way, but it’s another bridal train, so it has to make the rest of its stops before they drop it off at the station.”  
  
“Thank you,” she says again, because she’s not really sure what else there is to say. “Really.”  
  
“You’re welcome. I was thinking, though, that you might need some clothing to wear in the meantime. So – if you’re feeling up to it, of course – maybe we could go out and get you some today?”  
  
It takes a moment for her to understand what he’s suggesting because of how _shy_ he sounds. Is she feeling up for what? To let him buy her clothes? “You don’t have to,” she says.  
  
“I’d like to,” he says. “Of course, you’re still welcome to my clothes. As much as you’d like to wear. I just figured that you might be a little bit more comfortable in something of your own.”  
  
He certainly isn’t _wrong_ , and as much as she wants to argue with him, she isn’t sure if he would offer again if she did. She’s still relieved that she had been feeling sentimental enough to wear her mother’s dress the day that the train started having difficulties. That she had something pretty to meet Peeta in once the people on the train took back the clothing that they let her borrow.  
  
“That would be very nice of you,” she says. “Thank you.”  
  
 “Now, if you’re not ready, just let me know.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be ready?” she asks.  
  
“Well, I know how long you were on the train,” he says. “If you wanted to spend a day here, that would be perfectly fine.”  
  
She thinks about it, but after all of the sleep that she’s had, she can’t imagine anything that would make wanting to stay in his apartment worth it. “No, I’m fine,” she says.  
  
He smiles at her. “Are you sure?”  
  
She nods. “I’d like to get out. Really.”  
  
It’s quiet for a long moment. She’s halfway finished with the first of the cinnamon rolls when something chimes. He pulls something small out of his pocket and scans it. Once he reads what it has to say he sighs.  
  
“What?” she asks before she can stop herself from being nosy.  
  
“It’s my brother,” he explains, setting it down. “Like I said yesterday, they’re _really_ eager to meet you.”  
  
“Oh,” she says, not entirely sure why that should frustrate him. There’s another chime and he doesn’t even check it, just sort of rolls his eyes.  
  
“I told Dylan that I wanted to give you some more time to settle in, but he apparently took that as me telling him that I thought twenty four hours on solid ground was enough,” he explains. “So he made reservations for dinner tonight and is hounding me to make sure that I actually ask you like I said I would.”  
  
“Do you want to go?” she asks.  
  
“Not if you’re not ready,” he says.  
  
She resists the urge to tell him that that’s not what she asked. She’s sure that he does, anyway. Otherwise he wouldn’t have brought it up. And it’s not that she really wants to go, but considering all of the effort that he went through to get her luggage, she’s sure she could make it through a dinner. She decides to switch tactics. “I’d like to meet your brothers,” she lies.   
  
He smiles at her, but just barely. She wonders if he can see right through her. “You _really_ don’t have to go.”  
  
She nods, but then a thought hits her. “If you don’t want me to go, you can just tell them that I’m sick. Girls got sick on the train all the time. They said it was because of the different viruses from the Districts. Immune systems and . . .”  
  
He shakes his head before she even finishes talking. “No. No. Why wouldn’t I want you to go? I _definitely_ want you to go. Just not until you’re ready.”   
  
He continues like she’s just said the silliest thing he’s ever heard.  
  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I’d love for you to meet my brothers.”  
  
“Can I use your shower?” she asks before she finishes her last roll, deciding to get the question out of the way while he’s already thinking that she’s an idiot.  
  
He hesitates for a moment and then laughs, but there’s absolutely nothing malicious about it. It’s like he genuinely thinks that it’s funny that she asked. “Yes,” he says, suddenly serious. “Yes, you can use the shower. You don’t have to ask permission. It’s just as much your shower as is it is mine.”  
  
The meaning is still there in her words, but she’s overwhelmingly grateful that he didn’t tell her that it’s her house. She wonders if he knows that it isn’t. Not yet, at least.  
  
“But while we’re talking about it, I wasn’t sure if you would be bringing shampoos or soaps with you, so I picked some things up last time I was at the store,” he says. “I had no idea what to buy, though. I wound up picking up the strawberry stuff, but don’t feel like you have to use it. You can use mine – the stuff in the green bottle – if you’d prefer it. And you can definitely pick out the kind you like today.”  
  
“Strawberry should be fine,” she assures him. “Um, about my dress . . .”  
  
“Oh!” he says. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want it to get stepped on or anything so I hung it up in your closet,” he says.  
  
She decides to swallow her apology and finish her breakfast. 

* * *

  
  
Peeta’s shower is different than the one that she used on the train. Rather than the panel that she had so much trouble with, there are knobs, like the sort on she’s learned to use on sinks. It takes her a moment to adjust the temperature to something that’s tolerable.  
  
It feels incredible to stand under the hot water. She’s positive that she spends too long just enjoying the way that the hot water feels against her skin. It takes her a moment to work up the nerve, but she does finally open one of the pink bottles and take a hesitant sniff.  
  
She’s pleased that it doesn’t smell very much like the berries that she and Gale – _used to_ – bring to Madge Undersee. She likes the smell much more than she had liked the rose scent that she had accidentally used during her last shower on the train. She lathers it into her hair and marvels at how different it is from how they bathed at home. How something as bizarre as a separate soap for her hair is suddenly commonplace after a few showers on a train.  
  
The glass door of the shower is steaming up by the time she rinses her hair out and grabs the conditioner. There’s even a bottle of soap waiting in there for her, though it’s not strawberry. It’s some sort of vanilla scent. She can tell it’s for her, because the green bottle that Peeta uses proudly declares that it’s a three-in-one. She wonders why he would buy her something different only to offer her the stuff he likes to use.  
  
It takes a little while to work up the nerve to turn the water off and open the door, and when she does and the cold air hits her, she regrets it instantly. Just like she regrets not bringing her dress in with her as she reaches for a towel to wrap herself in.  
  
She dries her hair as much as she can and braids it, but there’s no avoiding it. If she wants to change back into her dress – which she doesn’t, not really – she’ll have to go back into the room. She secures the towel as tightly as she can, though it only really comes down to about the middle of her thigh. She steels herself and opens the bedroom door, saying goodbye to the rest of the steam, and heads for the closet.  
  
It’s just as she’s reaching up to take her dress from the hanger that she hears footsteps behind her.  
  
“Hey, so –” Peeta begins but stops suddenly, presumably because he’s seen her towel. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I’m going to be in the living room.”  
  
She manages to nod but stays exactly where she is, clutching the towel as tightly as she can and staring at the back of the closet. She stays that way until she hears the door shut behind Peeta, which happens so quickly that she’s nearly positive that he sprinted out. The thought of Peeta running from the room at the sight of his wife in a towel is almost funny. Maybe it would be if she wasn’t so mortified.  
  
She gets dressed as quickly as possible, but she’s nearly positive that he won’t try to come in again. She’s right.  
  
She’s not entirely sure that she’ll ever be able to face him again. But when she has her hair braided, her boots on, the shirt he gave her hung up in the closet and Peeta’s pants folded on the bed, there’s not much else she can do to stall short of running herself another shower.

* * *

  
  
As promised, Peeta is waiting for her in the living room, shoes on and everything. He’s sitting in one of the armchairs and she notices his eyes trained on her as soon as she enters the room. If she’s not mistaken, his cheeks are tinted pink. Is it possible that he’s more embarrassed than she is?  
  
“So, about that,” he begins, and she’s sure that he is.  
  
“It’s fine,” she says.  
  
“I appreciate you saying that, but it isn’t. I promise it won’t happen again,” Peeta says.  “I just heard the bathroom door open and I’m not sure what I thought you were doing in there but it wasn’t that.”  
  
“It’s your bedroom,” she says.  
  
“I’m not exactly staying in it alone anymore, Katniss,” he reminds her. “Besides, if you’re ever going to be anywhere near comfortable here, you need to have at least some level of privacy.”  
  
His tone is so definitive that she knows better than to try to argue with him.  
  
“You know you’re allowed to be mad at me, right?” he asks gently.  
  
“I’m not mad,” she says, because she isn’t. Mortified? Yes. But not angry.  
  
He smiles. “Well, I can’t say I’m not glad to hear that. Are you already ready to go?”  
  
She’s nodding before he’s even finished, because she can’t imagine wanting to spend another moment in his apartment.  


* * *

  
“For the record, my brothers have been telling me how excited they are all morning. I had to put my phone on silent because of all the texts,” he informs her as they get on the elevator.    
  
So that’s what he was reading from. She files the information away for later. She’s just wondering whether or not she’s supposed to say that she’s excited too when he leans against the back wall.  
  
“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” she insists, and he raises his eyebrows. “Okay. Maybe a little embarrassed. But I’m fine. I lived.”  
  
“For the record, there’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about,” Peeta says, just quietly enough that she’s not positive she heard him right. “But I’m glad you’re fine.”  


* * *

  
It’s sort of raining by the time he pulls the car out of the big garage. If she didn’t know better, she would think that the way he keeps glancing out her window – maybe at her, she isn’t sure – means that he’s nervous about it.  
  
She nods, watching out the front window. He navigates through the maze of buildings impressively. It only takes a moment for them to reach town and she wonders if it’s the same as living in the merchant quarter.  
  
“There might be a hoodie in the back,” he says, thankfully breaking her reverie before she can think about home for too long.  
  
“Did you want me to check?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.  
  
“Oh, no,” he says. “I’ll do it when we park. We aren’t too far, anyway.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“Parking does get a little bit rough around here. Do you want me to drop you off closer to the store?”  
  
The thought of walking around here alone is so strange that she has to look over at him to realize that he isn’t joking. “No.”  
  
He nods. “Fair enough.”  


* * *

  
He groans a little bit after he’s looked around in the back a little bit. She gets out of the car even though he told her that she could wait.  
  
“I don’t even have an umbrella in here,” he says, looking over at her. “I’m really sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” she says.  
  
“I might be able to find somewhere to park a little bit closer,” he says.  
  
“No, you couldn’t,” she says, because she had been looking, too, after he pointed out the store that he had been planning to take her to and there haven’t been any empty spaces. “Peeta, I can walk in the rain.”    
  
She realizes that it’s the first time she’s actually said his name out loud when he raises his eyebrows. He’s smiling, though, so she’s sure that she said it right.  
  
“I mean, it’s just rain. I won’t melt,” she says and he laughs.  
  
“Has anyone ever told you how incredibly low maintenance you are?” he asks as he starts to lead her down the sidewalk.  
  
It’s a combination of the fact that she’s sure that what he’s saying isn’t exactly a compliment and the breeze that makes her cross her arms, which only serves to make Peeta laugh again, but only for a second before he realizes that she isn’t laughing with him.  
  
“Hey, that’s not a bad thing,” he says. “It just means that you’re grounded. Real.”  
  
“As opposed to fake?” she asks skeptically, but she can feel her irritation fading. He seems earnest enough, at least.  
  
“Yes. Definitely,” he says. “I think you’ll see what I mean the more you’re around here. My point is that you’re easy to be around.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“It was supposed to be a compliment. I promise. Sorry.”  
  
She lets her arms drop to her side at this and he’s so relieved that he actually sighs.  
  
“You know, you spend a lot of time apologizing.” 


	3. Chapter 3

The store that he brings her to is massive. So big that a sign a few feet from the doors they came in has to display all of the little shops inside.   
  
“Where do you want to start?” Peeta asks. Katniss looks at the color-coded board for a moment, not sure if she’s just supposed to choose one arbitrarily. “Pants or shirts or dresses, I mean,” he amends.   
  
She hesitates before she answers. “Pants. I think.”   
  
“Sounds good to me,” Peeta says. “I know just the store, too. Are you ready?”   
  
She nods.    
  
“Perfect,” he says, already striding off down the corridor. It isn’t hard at all for her to catch up with him, but the thought of getting separated from him at all makes her anxious. If Gale was ever given the chance, he would rant about this for hours. About how clear things like the ordered spouse program make the difference between the Capitol and the Districts. About how dependant it makes the brides (and occasional grooms) on their spouses because of how little they’ll know about their new home. How unfair it is to make someone so helpless just because they need money.   
  
The colors in the shop are all bright. Too bright to really look at comfortably. Her eyes flit back and forth, trying to find somewhere to rest. Peeta finds one of the racks instantly and then pulls a pair of pants out by one leg. It looks almost like it’s made out of the same sort of material as her father’s jacket, but this has at least four discernible colors and patterns, all merging together and bleeding into each other.  
  
“I found something,” Peeta tells her.   
  
Her heart sinks. She wonders exactly how hard it would be to talk him into just leaving without actually getting anything. Until she looks up at his face.  His eyes are wider than usual as he glances from her to the pants and no matter how hard he seems to be trying to hide it, he’s smiling. Even the way that he’s holding it, she realizes, should have been a clue. He uses just the tips of two fingers to hold it out enough for her to see, as if he couldn’t stand to touch any more of it. Like it’s that bad. Which it really is, if you ask her.   
  
She can’t help herself. She laughs. The sound is foreign and sharp and ends just as quickly as it begins, because she’s trying to figure out when the last time she even laughed was. Maybe in the woods with Gale that morning, before the Peacekeepers came to collect her. She isn’t sure.   
  
  
“I was just kidding. Let’s find some decent pants,” he suggests. “Plain jeans should be in back. There’s also corduroys and slacks if that’s what you want. Just let me know what we’re looking for.”   
  
“Jeans,” she confirms. “Thank you.”   
  
“I don’t suppose you know your size, do you?” he asks. She shakes her head. She’s not sure she’s _ever_ worn a pair of jeans that were sized for her.  “Well, that’s actually a pretty easy fix. We’ll just send you in with a few different ones and you can let me know which size you like best. Okay?”   
  
She nods.   
  
“I don’t think it’ll be a very big number,” he says when they reach a table with stacks of identical jeans. He shuffles through them until he finds the one that he’s looking for and then repeats it a few times. He presents her with a stack of about five pairs and then smiles. “Are you ready?”   
  
She nods, but he laughs when she just takes them.   
  
“The fitting rooms are just over here,” he says, nodding towards the corner of the store. “Do you want me to come over with you?”   
  
She grips the jeans a little bit more tightly. “You don’t have to.”   
  
“I’ll come. Of course I’ll come,” he tells her, and then he reaches his hand out as if he’s going to touch her shoulder, but then he thinks better of it and pulls it back. “Like I said, they’re this way.”   
  
He sits down on the bench just outside the entryway of the fitting rooms. She leaves her dress on and pulls the jeans up, but after wearing her father’s pants and rolling the bottoms up, she isn’t entirely sure how she’s supposed to judge whether or not they fit.   
  
She hesitates when the first pair that she tries on sags and then puts them on the little bench in the room, trying on a smaller size. She continues this way until she finds one that settles right – if not a little bit low – on her hips. She memorizes the number and then takes them off and folds them, making sure to keep that one in the other hand so that it doesn’t get mixed with the ones that didn’t fit.   
  
“Did you find one?” Peeta asks when she comes out and she nods. “Great! Now comes the fun part. You get to pick out some different washes and styles.”   
  
“How many do you think I need?” she asks, thinking of the two that are coming from home. He doesn’t take her question the way she means it, though, and answers her honestly.   
  
“I’d say at least three,” he says. Her heart leaps into her throat.   


* * *

  
  
The rest of the trip proves to be like this. In every store he suggests that she buy several more sweaters than she would ever pick out for herself, and every time the people at the register give him high totals, he just smiles and hands over a little card.   
  
The very worst part is when he wordlessly leads her into a pink store filled with underwear and nods towards one of the tables. Katniss had thought that the most uncomfortable part of her day would be Peeta catching her in her towel. She was wrong.   
This is it. This has to be it. She can’t imagine anything worse. All things considered, it’s probably slightly more comfortable than it would have been if she had been forced to tell him that she needs underwear – she doesn’t even want to _think_ about how that conversation would go.   
  
The underwear was the easy part. It’s all bundled together, so she just needed to pick a package, but the bras are proving to be infinitely harder to understand.   
In addition to being ridiculously frilly and lacy things, they’re all paired with numbers and letters that she couldn’t even hope to figure out on her own. And it’s not like she’s willing to ask Peeta about them, either.   
  
“Could I help you?” a brightly dressed woman asks as she strides towards Katniss. “I’m going to take a guess here and say that you’re not from here – am I right?”   
  
Katniss nods.   
  
“A bride?”   
  
She nods again.   
  
“Oh, how _precious!_ What District did you come from?”   
  
“Twelve,” she says.   
  
“Oh, dear. You don’t even know your cup size, do you?” the woman asks, and she doesn’t even wait for a response before she’s pulling something out of her pocket. “Raise your arms, dear. I’ll measure you.”   
  
“Um,” she begins, uncomfortable, and the woman laughs. She almost wishes that Peeta had come with her, because she’s nearly certain that he could get her out of this.   
  
“You’ll be fine, dear. It doesn’t hurt. I just need to measure you so I can figure out what size you are.”   
  
She’s right. It doesn’t hurt. It is uncomfortable, though, the woman being so close to her bust while she measures her. She’s glad when she glances over and sees that Peeta is already looking through a rack of clothing, flipping through sweaters and blouses. She had been positive that he would be watching.   
  
Once the letter and numbers have been determined, the woman all but shoves a handful of lacy white bras at Katniss. She almost tries to dodge them before she thinks better of it.   
  
“Try these on. See if they fit,” the woman suggests.   
  
Katniss sets them down on the table, ignoring the concerned look that the woman gives her. “Do you have anything closer to a camisole?”   
  
“Oh! That we do!” the woman says, leading Katniss over towards a half wall filled with them. She can’t help but to let out a sigh of relief when she reaches the wall of camisoles. There are all sorts. Cottons and silks in every single shade she could imagine. It’s comforting, somehow.   
  
Never in her life has Katniss worn anything like the lacy white things on that table. She’s seen one in her mother’s drawer, but when Katniss got old enough to need to wear something under her clothing, her mother was only willing to part with a few of her old silk camisoles. Honestly, she wasn’t particularly interested in the camisoles, either, but she still packed them when the Peacekeeper stood over them. Not that it wound up doing her any good at all.   
  
She just picks a white cotton one at first, but after a moment she greedily takes a black silk one as well, hoping that Peeta won’t mind.   
  
He doesn’t.   
  
“Is that all?” Peeta asks when she joins him, glancing down into her basket. She’s sheepish when she nods.   
  
“What do you think about these?” he asks, nodding towards a shelf of folded long and short-sleeved shirts. “Do you like any of these colors?”   
  
She nods.   
  
“Pick out as many as you’d like,” he suggests, and she looks over at him in disbelief. “Personally, I like the blue striped one, but that’s just me.”   
  
That’s the first one that she picks up. The next is a dark green one. He nods towards the table again, as if she should keep going.   
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“Of course I’m sure,” he says. “I mean, you can’t always wear sweaters. Can you?” 

* * *

  
   
She knows that her father’s jacket is on the way, so refuses to let him buy her a coat because she will never wear it once the hunting jacket is here. “I’m sorry. Would it be okay if I wore one of yours? Just . . . in the meantime?”    
  
“Of course that would be okay. Can you think of anything else you need while we’re out? Clothes or food or anything?”   
  
She shakes her head. “No. Absolutely not.”   
  
He grins at her reaction. She’s nearly positive that it’s what he aimed for when he took her out in the first place.   


* * *

  
  
“Did you want to wear any of this tonight?” Peeta asks as he opens up a white machine she hadn’t noticed the other times she was in his kitchen.   


She roots through the bags until she finds the light jeans that he had picked out and the striped blue shirt along with the white camisole. She feels a little bit silly, but Peeta had liked it and she has no idea what sort of clothing she’s supposed to wear for his family, so dressing for him seems like the best option.   
  
“How much time do we have before we have to go?” she asks.   
  
He pulls his phone out and looks at the screen. “About an hour. Is that enough time for you to get ready?”   
  
She has to work hard at not looking at him like he’s crazy. “Plenty of time.”   
  
“Great,” he says. She can’t imagine anything that she would do that would take her anywhere near that long.   
  
“See you in a minute,” she tells him, mostly just to prove her point.  
  
  
She has to debate with herself for a moment, but she leaves her hair down no matter how strange it feels to not have it secure. It’s not like she’s going to be comfortable either way, so she may as well try to look nice tonight.   
  
She’s all too proud of herself for not crying this time.   
  
The washing machine is running when she comes out and Peeta is sitting in one of the chairs at the table, messing with his phone.   
  
“Hey, Katniss,” he says when he looks up, setting the phone down. “You look gorgeous.”   
  
“Thank you. It’s not too casual for dinner?”   
  
He shakes his head. “Oh, of course not.”   
  
“I didn’t know how your family usually dresses for meals,” she continues shyly.   
  
“Mellarks are definitely not formal dinner people,” he assures her. “You don’t have to worry about that at all.”   
  
She nods.   
  
“Though, I guess there are a _few_ warnings I could give you about my brothers. Rye, first of all, just because he concerns me more than Dylan. He can be sort of hard to take at first. And I love him, ‘cause he’s my brother, but you give me the word if he says the wrong thing and I’ll take care of it, okay?”   
  
She watches him for a moment, surprised, and he smiles.   
  
“He’s a teaser, is what I’m saying. You sort of have to try not to take anything he says seriously, just know that he’s kidding. Which isn’t to say that _you_ have to, because all you have to do is the say the word and I’ll talk to him and get him to stop.”   
  
She sits down across from him, surprised by the promise.   
  
“I don’t have too many warnings about Dylan, come to think of it. It’s more his wife.”   
  
“His wife?”   
  
“Her name is Astrid. She was born and raised here. Comes from a long line of Capitol purebreds, actually,” he says with a crooked smile. She notices just how perfectly straight his teeth are wonders if he finds it amusing because he’s the same. “I don’t want to say that it makes her think that she’s better than other people, but it sort of makes her think that she’s better than other people. Which is why it’s so interesting that she married my brother. But either way, she’s not too great about filtering before she speaks.”   
  
She wants to ask him what’s interesting about that, but then he’s continuing.   
  
“The same goes for her as it does for Rye, though. I’ll take care of anything that you need me to if you get uncomfortable. That’s the last thing we want to have happen tonight.”    
  
“Okay,” she says, a little bit nervous. “But do you get along with your brothers? For the most part?”   
  
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “We all work at the bakery together. Growing up we all shared one room. There’s not much of a choice there, you know? You either get along or you figure out how to fake it in front of your parents, and lying about it was so much work that you wind up bonding over it anyway.”   
  
She thinks of the bed – and room – that she shared with Prim and is genuinely surprised to have something in common with him. “I shared the room with my sister,” she tells him before she can talk herself out of it. “And my mother.”   
  
He watches her for a moment, looking stunned.  “I don’t know. I’ve heard people complain about it but it’s certainly a bonding experience, if nothing else.”   
  
She nods her agreement.   
  
“I don’t anticipate any problems tonight,” Peeta announces. “Partially because of wishful thinking, to be honest, but Rye’s wife is from District Two, so I think they probably understand better than anyone what you’re dealing with right now. Especially Scarlett – his wife. I think you two will probably get along pretty well. At least, I hope you will. Other than that, well, Astrid should be on her best behavior tonight.”   
  
“What about your parents?” she asks. “Anything I need to know about them?”   
  
He frowns. “A lot, actually. They won’t be there tonight, though. Which is a good thing, because they take a little bit more preparing, and I still have a day before I have to report back at the bakery. So that might be our big plans for tomorrow,” he laughs.   
  
It’s quiet for a moment.   
  
“You don’t have to be nervous, Katniss,” he says gently. “My brothers are going to love you. And they’re nowhere near as intimidating once you meet them. You’ll see.”    
  
  
She does see. When the hostess leads them to the table, she can’t even imagine being intimidated by the two boys that look almost exactly like Peeta or the pretty women sitting beside them.   
Not with the way that the extra couple is sitting at the end of the table. Or the way that Peeta stands up a little bit straighter under the gaze of the older woman that could only be his mother.   
No, Katniss doesn’t have it in her to be intimidated by so many people at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the next chapter is already written, so it shouldn't be too long of a wait . . . I hope. 
> 
> All of the reviews you guys have been leaving blow me away! Thank you so much!


	4. Chapter 4

“Dad, Mom,” Peeta says after a long moment, confirming her suspicions. “I didn’t think you were going to be here tonight.”  
  
His mother looks over at Katniss before she speaks. “I assumed we had as much of a right to be here as anyone else. Was I wrong to think it was an oversight?”  
  
Her accent is so thick that it reminds Katniss of the times that she and Gale would impersonate Capitol citizens in the woods. If she were anywhere else, the thought might make her laugh. Not here, though.  
  
“I’m starting to think you guys are in some sort of competition to overwhelm my wife.” _My wife_. He says it so easily. Maybe it’s _supposed_ to be easy. It’s the truth, anyways, and she almost thinks that the likes the way that he said it, the way he smiled when he reached the word.  
  
“Overwhelm her?” his mother repeats, still watching Katniss. “She’s a big girl, Peeta. If she wasn’t prepared to meet your family, she shouldn’t have signed up.”  
   
“She’s been on a train for two weeks. Give her a break,” he insists, and knowing that he’s so willing to stand up for her is comforting even if he doesn’t exactly have his facts straight. He pulls a seat out for her across from one of the women and doesn’t even think about sitting down until she’s situated. She doesn’t miss the fact that this means that he’s put himself between her and his parents, which is probably supposed to be comforting. It isn’t.  
  
“I’m Rye,” his brother says. He looks a lot like Peeta, just with shorter hair and a smile less like a grin and more like a smirk. “I’m his favorite, so imagine you’ve heard a lot about me by now. This is my wife, Scarlett.”  
  
She’s beautiful, really, with hair that’s such a light brown it’s almost blonde and hazel eyes. Katniss can’t help but to wonder why it is that Peeta would order a bride from District Twelve of all places.  
  
“I’m Katniss,” she offers, hoping she can completely avoid the joke about Rye being Peeta’s favorite because she has no idea what to say about it.  
  
In his seat beside her, Peeta turns to look at her. He looks confused but thankfully, Rye presses on.  
  
“Apparently my brother isn’t planning on introducing you to the others –” Rye begins, but Peeta interrupts.  
  
“I am. You could have just given me a minute,” he assures them. “Katniss, this is Rye and Scarlett across from us, and Dylan and Astrid are beside them. Then, of course, my parents are the ones at the end of the table.”  
  
He pronounces her name correctly this time. She’s not entirely sure what to make of how guilty she feels about it.  
  
“It’s very nice to meet you, Katniss,” Scarlett says.  
  
“Yes, it is. You know, Dylan couldn’t stop talking all day about how excited he was to meet you,”  
  
The insinuation is clear when it’s paired with the way that his eyes dart over to Dylan. It’s his fault that his parents are here.  
  
“We hear about you a _lot_ actually,” Rye continues. “Peeta has had your picture in his wallet ever since he ordered you, you know. So, of course, that means that he’d talk to you about anyone who would listen. It was kind of cute, actually.”  
  
Peeta looks thoroughly embarrassed, but she isn’t sure why he should be. He liked her picture enough to order her – whether or not that actually makes sense to her. Why shouldn’t he want to carry it around? Either way, she feels sorry for him. When he had mentioned the fact that his brothers tease him, she hadn’t thought it would be quite so brutal.  
  
“It’s good to finally meet you, Katniss,” Mr. Mellark says, and her breath catches in her throat. If Peeta’s voice reminded her of home, even vaguely, his father’s accent is the real thing. “Though I don’t exactly agree with Rye’s method of telling you, he’s right. Peeta has been _very_ excited for you to come.”  
  
“It’s good to meet you, too, Sir,” Katniss says, and Peeta passes her one of the menus that the waitress hands them.  
  
“Water?” Peeta asks.  
  
“Yes, please,” Katniss says not really paying too much attention while he orders two waters. His father _must_ be from home. He has to be. He looks exactly like a merchant . . . and just like his son. She turns to look at Peeta, unsure how she couldn’t have realized it before with those blue eyes and blonde curls. Peeta smiles at her and sort of furrows his eyebrows, as if he’s confused about why she’s suddenly watching him.  
  
She’s quick to look away.  
  
Even though after a while they start talking about things at the bakery that have nothing to do with her, everyone’s eyes keep wandering to Katniss. She can’t help but to feel increasingly uncomfortable, like she’s on display.  
  
“So, Katniss,” Astrid says. “District Twelve is mining, right?”  
  
She nods.  
  
“So what did you do there?”  
  
 “I worked in the mines,” she says, and Peeta nearly chokes on his drink of water.  
  
“As what?” Rye asks. “A _canary_?”  
  
“I was a miner,” she answers truthfully, reflexively, before she realizes that he’s making a joke. Then almost everyone is laughing – even Peeta – and she joins in, because it’s strange here for someone like her to work in the mines, and that’s almost the most amazing thing she’s ever heard.  
  
“It is sort of amazing,” Peeta says gently.  
  
“It wasn’t in my file?” she asks, partially convinced that this all has been a mistake. That he meant to order another girl and got sent her instead.  
  
“Oh, no. It was. It was all I really got to know about you other than your birthday and your height. And, apparently, how _not_ to pronounce your name.”   
  
She bites her lip.  
  
“So how did Peeta warn you about his bionic leg? Or did he just let you trip over it?” Rye asks.  
  
It takes a moment for her to realize that he’s talking to her, the question is so strange. “Bionic?” she repeats, positive that she’s never heard the word before. Peeta shoots his brother a look and then turns to face her, all patience.  
  
“It’s a prosthetic. Rye just insists on calling it bionic because he thinks it sounds cooler.”  
  
“Because it does sound cooler,” Rye says. “Unless you’re some sort of pretentious dick that insists on having everything called by its proper name.”  
  
Her eyes widen at the insult, but Peeta just laughs. “It’s a long boring story I’ll tell you later, okay?” he asks, and she nods. “And Rye, don’t be a jerk.”  
  
“Boys,” their father says. “Be nice.”  
  
“To be fair, that _is_ Rye being nice,” Dylan says, which only serves to make both of his brothers laugh.  
  
“Katniss!” Scarlett says suddenly, standing up. “I have to go freshen up. Come with me?”  
  
She hesitates, not wanting to announce to the whole table that she doesn’t really have to go.  
  
“Come on. Don’t make me go alone,” Scarlett insists. Katniss looks over at Peeta, thoroughly confused, and he smiles at her, nodding towards Scarlett as if in agreement that she shouldn’t make her go alone. She finally hesitantly stands up and follows her towards the back of the restaurant.  
  
  
“That’s how they play,” Scarlett announces once the door is closed behind them.  
  
Katniss watches while Scarlett messes with her hair in the mirror, not sure if she’s supposed to respond or not. Scarlett glances over at her and then sort of smiles.  
  
“You looked terrified, and I know I was too, at first. But mine is the instigator, so you shouldn’t have too much of a hard time. Not that I did. Or that I do.”  
  
“Oh,” Katniss says.  
  
“Also, I say this knowing that it probably doesn’t mean much to you one way or the other, but I think Peeta is a great guy. Rye was kidding when he said that he was Peeta’s favorite, but Peeta is, without a shadow of a doubt, Rye’s favorite. Maybe even my favorite, too.”  
  
It’s quiet for a moment. Katniss plays with the end of her braid just to have something to do.  
  
“You know, when it was my turn to have an uncomfortable family dinner, their parents didn’t come. That was how tonight was supposed to be. Dylan had gone off to get drinks from the bar since the waiter was busy, and it was just me and Peeta and Astrid and she was talking to me about different modifications. Like, about how she had a friend with an unfortunate nose that was able to get it fixed. And Astrid lacks subtlety, so I knew exactly what she was trying to say about me. Peeta came to my rescue, though. He asked her – in that gentle way of his – why she brought it up and if she’s been looking into any modifications. She was pretty quiet after that.”  
  
Katniss can feel a smile pulling at the corners of her lips at the story. She can imagine it pretty well, despite how little she knows Peeta.  
  
“The thing is, though, that Peeta was having a hard time at that point. That’s just . . . that’s the kind of guy he is. He’s _nice_.”  
  
“I think you’re right,” Katniss agrees, she sort of wants to relay the towel story buy she doesn’t want to give Peeta’s brothers any more ammunition to use against him, so she decides against it.  
  
“He’d be glad to hear that, you know,” Scarlett says. “That you think he’s nice.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean that he’s been a goner since the night he ordered you. I mean, Dylan didn’t put it as nicely as he could have, but we _have_ heard a lot about you. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try his hardest to get it for you if he thought it would make you happy.”  
  
She thinks of his words from earlier. _If you’re ever going to be anywhere near comfortable here, you need to have at least some level of privacy._ Even before that. _I really hope you can be like it here, Katniss._  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
“I wish I knew,” Scarlett says. “Rye was the same way, if it helps.”  
  
“Do you think they usually are? The guys that order wives?”  
  
“They certainly didn’t prepare us for anything like that.”  
  
Katniss swallows hard. “You were . . . a career?”  
  
Scarlett laughs. “If that’s what you call us, then sure. My mom sort of thought that the best you could be is a good wife so she put me through the classes. And it’s not like I was _allowed_ to have a boyfriend, so I signed up and Rye found me.”  
  
“Oh,” Katniss says.  
  
She half expects Scarlett to ask why she signed up, but she doesn’t. “Well, it’s like I said, I know how it can be. And I assume that means that Peeta is getting concerned right about now, so we might want to get going. Lipstick?”  
  
She shakes her head but watches while Scarlett applies it. It barely makes a difference. Only makes her lips a shade or two lighter than they were a moment ago.  
  
“Shall we?” she asks.  
  
Katniss nods.  
  
“Peeta has my phone number,” Scarlett says. “You can call me if you ever need anything at all. Even if it’s just to talk. Okay?”  
  
She nods again.  
  
“And one more thing, Katniss,” Scarlett says, heading for the door but then hesitating and looking over her shoulder. “Don’t let him beat himself up too badly about the whole name thing. Okay?”  
  
  
  
  
“Hey, do you want to try mine?” Peeta asks after their meals have arrived and they’ve all started to eat. His voice is low enough that the conversation continues around them. She looks up from her plate for what must be the first time since it’s been sitting in front of her. “I don’t mind,” he assures her, sliding his plate just a little bit closer to her.  
  
Hesitantly, she wipes her fork off with her napkin and takes as little of the meal off of his plate as she can. She’s only just gotten to taste it when his mother clears his throat.  
  
“At least she has decent table manners for the most part,” she says. “I’ve heard of brides from Twelve who eat with their hands like savages. That sort of thing would completely upset my digestion.”  
  
For some reason, Astrid snickers at this. Katniss’ eyes drop down to her plate again. It takes everything inside of her not to ditch the silverware and eat with her hands. All the girls that sign up for the ordered spouse program from Twelve are just as desperate as she was, just wanting extra money to use to feed their families. She doubts that any of them would have seen a meal half as big as what she has in front of her in their lives.  
  
“Good, right?” Peeta asks, and though her cheeks are hot and surely bright red, she nods. “Do you want more?”  
  
She shakes her head. What she really wants is to know how someone who has proven himself to be kind as Peeta could have been raised by her. Scarlett catches Katniss’ eye from across the table and raises her eyebrows just slightly. She doesn’t have to say anything. Katniss knows that she thinks that what Mrs. Mellark said is ridiculous and there’s something comforting about knowing that someone else does. A stolen glance up at Peeta shows her that he has his jaw clenched, he’s so upset.  
  
She slides her plate towards him, even though she’s not entirely sure if she should or not. “You can try mine, if you want.”  
  
This makes him smile, but only slightly. “You’re sure?”  
  
His mother mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _now she’s got everyone doing it_ and Peeta pauses.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
She won’t repeat it. Katniss clears her throat and he sort of sighs before he tastes the stew.  
  
“It’s good,” he assures her. “Really good.”  
  
“Do you want more?” she asks.  
  
“I’m good, thank you,” he says.  
  
“Has Peeta talked to you about the position?” his father asks, and Katniss shakes her head.  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Well, we’d absolutely love to have you at the bakery, if that’s something you would be interested in,” his father says, and everyone quiets around them, waiting for her answer.  
  
“I don’t know how to bake,” Katniss says honestly, and a few people chuckle but she doesn’t see who.  
  
“I could teach you,” Peeta offers. “I mean, if you could learn how to work in a coalmine, I’m sure I could teach you how to throw some bread together.”  
  
This makes her smile, which encourages him.  
  
“It could be fun. We would go in together and I could teach you how to bake. Of course, none of us are gonna take it personally if you’d rather not.”  
  
She can’t think of an alternative that doesn’t involve her spending all of her time alone in his apartment, so she nods. “I think I’d like to try it.”  
  
“I go back tomorrow, so you can come with me if you want.”  
  
“Actually, we have good news about that,” Peeta’s father says. “We were able to shuffle some shifts around and get you that week you asked for off, so you won’t have to wait.”  
  
Peeta grins. “Really?”  
  
“You have Rye to thank for it, mostly,” he says, nodding. “He and Scarlett are picking up the majority of your shifts.  
  
“ _Dad_!” Rye says with a whine that even Katniss can tell is a joke. “You weren’t supposed to say anything. He can’t think I like him.”  
  
Peeta laughs. “That’s great. Thank you guys.”  
  
“What are you going to do?” Astrid asks.  
  
“Oh, nothing is definite yet,” Peeta says. “It really just depends on what Katniss wants to do.”  
  
“I still think about how romantic it was when Dylan took me to District One for our honeymoon,” she says, leaning a little bit closer to her husband. “Where was it that you and Rye went, Scarlett? Four?”  
  
For some reason, Katniss feels defensive. “I’m glad Peeta didn’t put me on a train as soon as I got here.”  
  
He smiles at her. “I thought that you might want to stay on solid ground for a little while.”  
  
For the rest of the meal, in spite of this, Astrid gushes about her honeymoon.  
  
After a while, Rye announces that he and Scarlett should probably get going soon and Katniss’ eyes must linger on them for too long because Peeta nods in agreement.  
  
“Yeah, Katniss and I will probably have to skip out on dessert, too. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” he says, stretching his back out a little bit. He glances down at her empty plate. “Are you ready?”  
  
She nods, maybe a little bit too eagerly. He settles up with the waitress as soon as she passes the table again. She wonders if he’s as ready to leave as she is, and if that’s why he was so hesitant to come in the first place.  

* * *

  
“I’m so sorry,” he says once she’s in the car, and she rests her head against the window. “That was a disaster.”  
  
“It wasn’t that bad,” she assures him.  
  
“It was awful. My mother was . . . ugh. But Astrid did sort of have a point, as much as I’d hate to admit it.”  
  
“About what?” she asks.  
  
“I have a whole week off and absolutely _nothing_ planned to show you,” he says. “They scheduled me to take a week off next week, originally, because I didn’t put in for time off with enough notice, but like they were saying, they changed it. Which is great, only, I had thought that maybe I’d have the chance to figure you out enough by next week so that I could find something you’d like to do.”  
  
“Oh. We don’t have to do anything,” she says, looking for a star through the window. She can’t find one.  
  
“Yes, we definitely do,” he assures her. “We can do anything you want to. Do more shopping, or see a movie. I could take you to one of those national parks I was telling you about. If you’d be interested in camping, then I could see if we could borrow my dad’s tent. It could be sort of fun, if you’re into all of the outdoorsy stuff.”  
  
She sort of smiles. “Yes.”  
  
“You are?” he asks.  
  
She thinks of about a thousand things she shouldn’t tell him about. “What sort of things would we do out there?”  
  
“Oh, anything,” he says. “Just off of the top of my head, though, there’s fishing or swimming or hiking. We could make a fire. It could be fun.”  
  
“And we’d stay in the woods?” she asks, because she never attempted that back home. “All night?”  
  
“Yeah! When we used to go when I was a kid we’d stay for like three days at a time. But we can stay however long you want. If you just wanted to go fishing or hiking or something and then go home, that would be fine, too.”  
  
“No, I want to stay in the woods,” she says, and she thinks her voice is a little too firm, but Peeta doesn’t seem to mind at all.  
  
“You’re great,” he says instead.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait but if it makes you feel better I wrote this like 10000 times. The next chapter will be fluffy camping goodness featuring backstory. So there's that to look forward to!


	5. Chapter 5

When Katniss wakes, it’s to the sound of a shower running. For some reason, she’s proud of herself for being able to get up at a decent time this morning. No matter how strong the temptation to tug the quilt up over her face and go back to bed is. Peeta has been more than understanding about how tired she is. He called it jet lag, saying that it didn’t matter that she hadn’t been on a plane, just that it’s what they call it.  
  
She doesn’t seem to be getting much rest when she does sleep. She dreams of her sister and when she wakes up, her entire body is sore. She rolls her neck, trying to work some of the tension out, but she moves on it when it doesn’t work, heading for the dresser and picking some clothes out. When she stands up, she sets her clothing down and picks the framed picture up from the top of the dresser.  
  
It’s clearly Peeta, Rye, and Dylan. She can’t quite tell the difference between the older two, but the third one, the one with one brother holding him in a headlock and the other messing his hair up, is unmistakably Peeta. His eyes are locked on the camera and he’s grinning, slightly lopsided. Rye and Peeta are dressed strangely, but Dylan is dressed normally.  
  
The bathroom door opens, and she thinks about trying to act like she wasn’t being so nosy, but she doesn’t have the time to.  
  
“Wrestling tournament,” Peeta says. “Rye was a senior and I was a junior. The whole thing came down to the two of us and he beat me. A friend of ours took the picture not too long afterwards.”  
  
She looks over at him, a little ashamed to be caught looking. He doesn’t seem to mind, though.  
  
“Sorry,” he says, reaching up and running a hand through his still-damp hair. “I would have been a lot faster if I knew you were waiting.”  
  
Katniss frowns. “I wasn’t waiting. And you weren’t slow.”  
  
“That’s good to hear. I used to be notorious for lingering in the shower when I was younger. It drove my mother crazy.”  
  
Katniss can imagine that, having met his mother. She doesn’t say that, though. Something tells her that she isn’t supposed to. “I felt like I took too long yesterday.”  
  
“You definitely didn’t,” he says. “Was the shampoo okay?”  
  
She nods. “It smelled nice.”  
  
Peeta smiles. “I’m glad you liked it. It was just a guess.”  
  
It’s quiet for a moment.  
  
Peeta smiles at her.  “I’m going to go to ahead and make a list. We’ll have to run to the grocery store and pick up a few things on our way. If that’s okay with you.”  
  
She examines him, trying to figure out what he means, asking her permission. “Yeah, of course that’s okay.”  
  
“Great. I’m gonna go ahead and get out of your way so you can get ready. Take your time, though. I’ll just make some eggs or something when you’re finished.”  
  
She nods, setting the picture down carefully.

* * *

  
  
  
“It’s official,” he says when she comes out, and true to his word, he’s packing food and bottles of water into a little blue bag. “You’re the quick one. That couldn’t have been – what, more than five minutes?”  
  
She shrugs, moving to stand a little bit closer to him because she wants to try to figure out what sort of sandwiches he’s made.  
  
“You were right about that shampoo smelling nice,” he tells her with a small smile. It’s the shy kind, and it’s quickly becoming her favorite. “It suits you. Smells better than it did in the bottle, I mean.”  
  
“Thank you. Did you hear from your father?”  
  
“I did. He said to come by whenever we’re ready to pick up the supplies. He’s beyond excited to see you again. He really liked you.”  
  
“Really?” Katniss asks, and Peeta kind of laughs.  
  
“Yeah. My phone was going crazy last night with texts from my family. Rye and Scarlett in particular. They’re about ready to try and steal you from me, I think.”  
  
There’s something strange about the idea of her being _Peeta’s_ to be stolen, but before she can over think it, he pulls his phone from his pocket, swipes at the screen a few times, and hands it over.  
  
She holds onto it tightly, terrified of breaking it.  
  
 **Rye:  
** _Is it in bad taste to say I told you so?  
_  
 **Scarlett:**  
 _It’s official – Rye and I want you two over for dinner, just . . ._  
  
 **Dylan:  
** _She’s great, man. Congrats._  
  
 **Dad:  
** _Call me_  
  
“See what I’m saying?” Peeta asks, and he tries to hide his smile when he reaches over and taps the screen, expanding it to show an entire conversation with Scarlett about Katniss. _Just have her pick a day. I’ll take her out and about and we can all meet up._ “They adore you.”  
  
Katniss manages a weak smile and hands the phone back over. She’s thinking, suddenly, of how nice it would be to talk to her sister this easily. The thought begins innocently enough, but it spirals into a feeling like the one she had in the bathroom on her first night here. She closes her eyes as soon as the tears start to form, swaying a little bit on suddenly unsteady feet. She’s overcome and trying _so hard_ not to start crying here in front of Peeta.  
  
“Katniss?” Peeta asks, and she feels his hands on her arms. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”  
  
She opens her eyes, and he’s clouded by her tears, but she can tell just how concerned he looks.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
She shakes her head, reaches up and wipes at her eyes. “I’m fine. I just . . . I don’t know what happened,” she only sort of lies. Her voice breaks, and she’s trying so hard not to cry that she has to turn away from him.  
  
“I’m, uh, I’ll get you a glass of water,” Peeta says, more unsure than she’s ever heard him. She’s afraid that she’s upset him, pulling away like this. She sits down at the table, focusing on taking steadying breaths. “Maybe we shouldn’t go today. Don’t want to push things.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” she says, because she’s already regained her composure, for the most part. It’s not like everything should be put on hold just because she misses her sister. “I miss my sister,” she says before she can talk herself out of it. He has a right to know.  
  
He sets a glass down in front of her and she turns to look at him. “I’m sorry, Katniss.”  
  
She clears her throat before she speaks, wanting her voice to be as strong as possible. “Can we still go?”  
  
“Are you sure you want to?” he asks. “It might be easier on you if we just stayed here.”  
  
She’s shaking her head before he’s even finished talking. “I want to. Please.”  
  
They talked about the sort of things a camping trip would entail while they packed last night. He managed to get her excited.  
  
“Yeah. Of course. Just . . . you know you can talk to me about this kind of stuff, right? About your sister.”  
  
“I know. Thank you.”  
  
She doesn’t intend on it.

* * *

  
  
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel while he drives. He’s been acting strange even since this morning. As if he needs to be careful around her.  
  
She feels terrible about it.  
  
“Is it far? To your father’s house, I mean?”  
  
“Oh, no, not far at all,” Peeta answers. “It’s just this next turn up here.”  
  
She nods. He pulls into the parking lot of a little shop. The sign says _Mellark Bakery_ in curling, looping letters that are slightly hard for her to read. “We aren’t going to your parents’ house?”  
  
“This is the house,” he says. “I can see how it could be confusing. There’s an apartment above the bakery. That was where we grew up.”  
  
It’s sort of like District Twelve, the thought of a merchant family living above their shop. She actually smiles.  
  
  
They go in through the storefront, and it smells like bread and pastries and all sorts of good things. Rye is leaned over the counter, talking to someone, but he lifts a hand and waves at them when the bell over the door signifies their arrival. Katniss hesitates, not sure where Peeta is going to lead her.  
  
“Through here,” Peeta says, already heading towards the counter. He grins when she hesitates. “It’s okay, Katniss, we won’t get in trouble.”  
  
She follows him. He holds the swinging door open for her, but she can’t help but to think that it feels sort of wrong to be back here at all. Mr. Mellark grins at her when he sees them, though, and she’s slightly more comfortable.  
  
“Katniss! It’s good to see you again,” he says.  
  
“It’s good to see you, too, sir,” Katniss answers.  
  
“You don’t have to be so formal,” Mr. Mellark assures her, wiping the flour off of his hands and onto his apron. “How are you settling in?”  
  
“Fine,” Katniss answers. The question seems to demand more of an answer, though, so she clears her throat and tries not to focus on Peeta in her periphery. “Peeta is taking care of me. I’m excited to go camping.”  
  
She’s concerned that she doesn’t sound genuine enough. Peeta sort of smiles, though. “Where’s the stuff.”  
  
“Right in the living room,” his father answers. “Be quiet when you go up. Your mother is working on some paperwork.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Peeta answers.  
  
His father doesn’t tell him to be less formal.  
  
“Are you ready, Katniss?” Peeta asks.  
  
She nods. He pulls a key from his pocket and uses it to open a door in the back of the kitchen. It leads to a tall set of stairs. She can’t help but to wonder how he can make the climb on his leg, but with the use of the railing, he’s fine.  
  
“So, ah, home sweet home,” Peeta says once the door is closed behind them. The living room is dark until Peeta flips a switch and fills it with light. There are a few pictures dotting the wall.  
  
“Is that you?” she asks in a near-whisper, nodding towards a frame with a blonde haired little boy on a rocking horse. If they can make it in and out without alerting his mother, then that’s what she wants to do.  
  
“Dylan,” Peeta murmurs back. “Honest mistake, though. We all looked so much alike that, judging by the walls in this house, my mother just picked the most photogenic one.”  
  
The first time she got her picture taken was for the registry, but there’s something sad about this even if she can’t relate. Another big frame shows Dylan and Astrid, and it was clearly taken on their wedding day, judging by the over-the-top white dress and veil Astrid is wearing.  
  
She wonders if Peeta had wanted a wedding like that. What she can’t figure out is how he didn’t end up with one. A boy like Peeta, one that’s attractive _and_ kind should have been able to charm over someone like Astrid ages ago. So why in the world did he resort to ordering a bride?  
  
He starts to gather up the supplies. She picks the sleeping bag up, tucking it under her arm so she can get more, but Peeta is able to manage the rest.  
  
“Thanks,” he mouths. She nods.  
  
  
He lets her into the car before he loads the things into the back.  
  
“We have to stop by the store,” he says, and she nods. “It’s not that long of a list, though. We’ll still have plenty of sunlight by the time we get there.”  
  
“Is it a long drive to the campground?” she asks, thrown by his comment about the sunlight.  
  
He nods. “Well, a couple of hours. It’s easily one of my favorite places in the world, though, so I think it’s worth it.”  
  
She nods. “I’m excited to see it.”  
  
“I’m glad,” he says. “I’ve never taken a girl there before.”  
  
She hesitates. The question falls out anyway. “Do you . . .  did you take girls a lot of places?”  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “Um, well, I mean, I _dated_. But I was a serial monogamist,” he clears his throat when he realizes that she has no idea what he’s saying. “I mainly just got a girlfriend and stuck with her. There weren’t too many. This is particularly awful first date conversation. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“We’re not dating.” It comes out so much more harshly than she wants it to. “I . . . we’re . . . we’re _married_.”  
  
It takes a little bit of work to force the word out, but Peeta smiles. “You have a point there.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“For saying we’re married?” he asks.  
  
“I just . . . I wanted to know.”  
  
“You have the right to. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
It’s quiet for a moment. She’s the one to break the silence. “I never dated anyone.”  
  
His eyes widen a little bit. “Never?”  
  
She can’t quite look at him. She feels suddenly defensive – and incredibly mad at herself for offering this piece of information up.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, clearly sensing the change in her attitude. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that I thought – expected, really – that someone as beautiful as you would have had men lined up around the block.”  
  
She looks at her reflection in the side mirror of the car. _Beautiful_? She never really thought of herself that way before. She doesn’t see it much, honestly. But he spoke with enough conviction that she almost wants to believe him. “I didn’t.”  
  
“God,” he murmurs. “How? Sorry. I’m hogging all the questions. You take a turn.”  
  
“What does bionic mean?” she asks.  
  
“It’s just what Rye calls my leg when he’s being a jerk.”  
  
“No. What does it _usually_ mean? Why does he call it that?”  
  
“Oh. Robotic. Usually super strong, I think,” he answers. “You can ask something else if you want. I mean, a definition hardly counts as a question.”  
  
“I’m fine,” she says.  
  
“What does your name mean?”  
  
“It’s a plant. It grows in the lake by – in District Twelve,” she corrects herself quickly. He didn’t order a hunter. “Yours?”  
  
“My name? It comes from Peter, originally, I think. Why didn’t you tell me I was saying your name wrong?”  
  
She should have known this was what he was leading up to. She’s suddenly grateful that his eyes are fixed so firmly on the road, because she can’t quite look at him anyway. “I thought . . . because of your accent, I thought that was just how you said it.”  
   
He smiles. “I have an accent? No, wait, we’ll go back to that one. Not my turn.”  
  
She hasn’t taken her turn yet by the time they reach the grocery store. She takes a moment, trying to come up with something good. The doors retract to let them in and she breathes in quickly, startled.  
  
“Would you rather wait in the car? It’s okay if you do,” Peeta assures her gently.  
  
She shakes her head. He picks up a basket and she sort of wants to ask for it, maybe having something to focus on would be nice. The store stretches on seemingly forever. Peeta is in his element, though, and he seems to know exactly where he’s headed.  
  
The floor is so very white. That combined with the too-bright lights is almost too much for her to take.  
  
"Is it still my turn?”  
  
He has to think about it for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, why?”  
  
“Is your father like me?”  
  
“Was he ordered, do you mean? Or is he from Twelve? Because it’s a yes on both counts. I probably should have already mentioned that, come to think of it. My bad.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“Have you ever had s’mores?” he asks.  
  
“No. What?”  
  
“Okay. That settles that, then,” he says, walking almost comically fast to another aisle. She jogs to keep up with his long strides until he returns to a normal pace.  
  
“Did you . . . did you really carry my picture around in your wallet?” she asks. In response, Peeta digs into his pocket and pulls his wallet out, handing it over. She opens it carefully, noticing first the card with a picture of a smiling Peeta on a blue background. She’s not entirely sure what he means, showing her this. Then the other side of the wallet catches her eye, and in a little clear window clearly made for this sort of thing, she sees herself.  
  
She isn’t smiling. She figures she looks decent enough, her hair was in her normal braid that day, and the shirt she was wearing was decent. Not tattered. At least, not visibly. She had the sense to change after hunting, though now she’s wondering if she would have still been in District Twelve if she had left the blood-stained shirt on and let her braid remain as unkempt as it was.  
  
“I hope it isn’t creepy,” he says, sounding surprisingly insecure. She shakes her head, closing the wallet and handing it back over.  
  
“No. Not creepy.”  
  
He smiles, tossing a few more things into the basket. “  
  
“What did you mean when you said Astrid came from a _long line of Capitol purebreds_?”  
  
“Oh, man, that’s an easy one. Astrid’s family just never ordered any spouses. So her parents were both from the Capitol, and so were their parents, and so on and so forth as far back as they could tell. According to Dylan, she made a comment on their first date about how they can trade her ancestry all the way back to Snow. She said it around us one time – me and Rye, I mean – and we just looked at each other, not sure what to make of her. Eventually, Dylan must have explained that it’s not something to brag about, because she hasn’t brought it up in a long time.”    
  
Katniss sort of smiles, grateful that Peeta is sane, for the most part. She doesn’t know what she would have done if _he_ had been the one able to trace his ancestry back that way.  
  
“So why didn’t you date, then? Was it because you were going to sign up? I know that’s what Scarlett did. She knew she would be a bride.”  
  
“No. It wasn’t like that. You’re not Capitol purebreds, then, because of your father.”  
  
“Right. And, I mean, it’s not like my mother was the first one to order a spouse. We’re more mutt than anything. Why is it that you don’t take up any space in the bed?”  
  
“I’m used to sharing the bed,” she says. “My sister has a cat.”  
  
“Must be a big cat,” he says, and he manages not to laugh at all. Of course, this only serves to make _her_ laugh. He looks almost proud of himself.  
  
 _he wanted to make you smile_.  
  
“The CD you played wasn’t for you, was it?”  
  
He smiles. “No. I mean, I _like_ it, but . . . you were having such a hard time last night, I thought that maybe it would help. And you seemed to like it enough, so I figured . . . you know. Did you like it?”  
  
She nods. “They have a festival back – in District Twelve,” she says, sure that it wouldn’t do Peeta any favors if she referred to it as _home_. “They had music that was almost like that.”  
  
“My father always liked to listen to it,” Peeta says. “The Harvest Festival, right?”  
  
She nods. “How did you know?”  
  
“He had some fond memories of that. Used to talk about anytime there was a parade or anything here. You’ve seriously never been camping before?”  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
“I hope you like it.”  
  
“I bet I will,” she says. She’s not sure what drives her to say the next part, but she does. “I like the woods.”  
  
“I figured,” Peeta says. “I mean, the first thing you ever asked me was about trees. What did you do? Hike?”  
  
She doesn’t want to _lie_ to him. Somehow, that seems much worse than just not telling him. “I hunted.”  
  
Telling him is worth it if only for the look of awe on his face. Why had she been afraid to mention it? “You hunted,” he repeats. “With what?”  
  
“A bow and arrows,” she admits, her voice quiet, just in case there are others listening.  
  
“A bow and arrows,” he repeats lowly. He’s _impressed_. Suddenly, she feels proud of herself.  
  
“I fished, too,”  
  
“I’ll bet you did.”  
  
“You don’t mind?” she asks.  
  
“That you hunted?” he asks, seeming more than a little confused. “Of course not. Why would I? I just wish I could see you in action.”   
  
“It’s not ladylike, for one,” Katniss says, resisting the urge to imitate the escort from the train’s accent. She doesn’t want to offend him.  
  
“And who told you I expected you to be ladylike?” Peeta asks, amused.  
  
“And  . . . I wasn’t really _supposed_ to hunt. I wasn’t registered.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“. . . I couldn’t afford the license,” she mumbles. “Or the test. Or the right kind of bow to take it.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Peeta says. “I was wondering why you weren’t supposed to hunt. Wasn’t hunting legalized after the war?”  
  
“It was. They make you take a test, though. It’s weapon control, or something like that.”  
  
“Hmm,” he says. “How long have you been hunting?”  
  
She shrugs. “Forever. My father made me a bow when I was small, since they don’t exactly make them in children’s sizes.”  
  
He smiles. “Do you want one?”  
  
“A bow?”  
  
“I mean, obviously, it wouldn’t be the same as the one your father made. But if that’s something you’d like to do, I’m sure we can work something out.”  
  
He’s unsure, and she can’t figure out why. “Do you mean it?”  
  
“Sure I do,” he says.  
  
Suddenly, she feels a thousand pounds lighter. He _wants_ her to have a bow.

“Tell me about going camping as a kid.”  
  
   
Peeta, it turns out, is a great storyteller. He’s excited about the story he’s telling, his voice drops in pitch when he imitates his father and rises ever so slightly when he’s quoting his mother. It’s not as if he’s mocking her, really, but like he’s getting into character.  
  
He tells Katniss _everything_. At least, she thinks it’s everything. The story carries them all the way through the checkout line and back to the car and even then, on the road, he’s still telling stories. And the strangest part is that she’s enjoying them. She finds herself nodding and laughing not long into the story, no matter how suspicious she wanted to be of him.  
  
That’s the problem with him. He’s so completely disarming. She leans back against her seat a little bit, trying to get more comfortable.  
  
“And Dylan had his first girlfriend at the time, so they were texting _constantly_ and my father kept threatening to take his phone away, but he wouldn’t give it up. Dylan got to keep his phone for the weekend, because my father didn’t want to ruin the trip, I guess, but as soon as we got in the car to get home he reached back, plucked the phone out of his hand. Dylan didn’t get it back for a week. Rye and I thought it was funny. Probably just ‘cause it wasn’t us in trouble, for once.”  
  
Having brothers seems so different from having a sister. She wonders if the dynamic is different because he’s the baby, but she almost doubts it.  
  
“I’m probably really boring you by now,” he says, apologetic.  
  
“No,” she says, maybe a little bit too quickly. “I like the stories. They’re nice.” Her question from earlier, when she was looking at the picture of Astrid, comes back without warning. “Did you _know_ you wanted to order a bride? Growing up?”  
  
“No. Absolutely not,” he laughs, clearly a little uncomfortable. “I mean, I never thought there was anything wrong with it, but I didn’t think it was going to be what I did. Of course, I used to think I’d do all kinds of things I never got around to.”  
  
“So you didn’t get around to getting married?” she asks.  
  
“Isn’t it my turn?” Peeta asks. “But no. I mean, it’s not really like that.”  
  
“Ask a question, then,”  
  
“What about you? Did you know you were going to sign up to be a bride?” he asks.  
  
She shakes her head. “Maybe . . . for the last little bit, I knew it was where I would end up. But I didn’t think anyone would _order_ me.”  
  
He frowns. “Why not? Actually, scratch that. We’ll go back to that one. Your question.”  
  
“Your mother hated me,” she reminds him.  
  
“That’s not a question, and she hates everyone,” he says, and she knows that he’s only _trying_ to joke. “Go ahead. It’s still your turn.”  
  
She nods. “I guess I’m just wondering, with what she was saying about girls from Twelve, why she would order a husband from there.”  
  
“Still only vaguely a question, but I’ll take it,” he says. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way. She developed her . . . feelings about Twelve after the fact.”  
  
“Why?” she asks, and he raises his eyebrows.  
  
“You don’t like playing by the rules, do you?” he asks, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “My father was sort of hung up on a woman. It was why he signed up for the program in the first place. She had left him for a coalminer and he wanted to have a fresh start so he signed up and my mother placed her order looking more for a baker than a husband. The marriage turned out less than ideal, as you may have noticed.”  
  
“You didn’t have to answer if it wasn’t my turn,” she says, feeling embarrassingly petulant. He grins.  
  
“I’ll always answer your questions,” he says, and it feels like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camping has been split into two chapters! I swear this fic isn't abandoned :)  
> My sister's wedding is next week and then I'm going to be away for about a month, so I'm going to try to have some chapters written in advance so that you won't notice, but if you miss a chapter from me in May/June, then that's why. 
> 
> (I was hesitant about adding the question game, I'm not going to lie. If anyone wants to let me cry at them and send them parts of the chapters before publishing I'll love you forever.) 
> 
> I'm not too experienced in Folk Music, I won't lie. When I imagine Katniss listening to Peeta's CD, I picture Folkin' Around by Panic! At The Disco. It may or not make an appearance later in the story. So if you want to listen to that, then it might help. 
> 
> Okay I'm going to stop rambling I'm just really happy there are people who like this story. I'm so sorry about the wait. I spend the majority of the time working on the chapters, I just have a habit of rewriting instead of editing so I get nowhere at all. I'll try to be quicker next time!


	6. Chapter 6

  
It’s surprising, honestly, how long it takes for them to be free from the city. She suspects Peeta must live in the very heart of it, because the further they get away from the bakery and the grocery store, the less stores there are. There are still a few for a long time, but they seem more like stragglers than like a part of the city. A small store here, an apartment complex there.  
  
She’s only really impressed when she sees the trees. They’re all growing along the side of the road, tall and far too uniform. But they’re _trees_ , and her breath sort of catches in her throat when she sees them. She glances over at Peeta, suddenly self-conscious about her reaction, but he’s smiling.  
  
“I’ve been excited to make this turn,” Peeta admits. “Just wait until we reach the campgrounds. I have a feeling you’ll like them.”  
  
This draws a smile out of her. “I can’t. I’m excited.”  
  
“We can roll the window down, if you want,” Peeta says, and she nods eagerly, watching while he presses a button down. The side windows pull down and then there’s nothing really separating them from outside. The wind whips through the car loudly, and she lets out an exhilarated little laugh.  
  
“What do you think?” he asks, and he nearly has to shout to be heard over the wind. His hair is being ruffled mercilessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he’s still grinning.  
  
“I like it!” she calls back, and she’s smiling, too. Peeta reaches over and turns the music up. It’s been playing so quietly all day that she hasn’t even noticed until now that it’s the CD he’s been playing for her at night.  
 _  
_It’s around _you’ve never been so divine in accepting your defeat and I’ve never been more scared to be alone_ that she notices the way Peeta’s lips are moving along with the song but it’s far too loud in the car for her to hear him. She thinks of the tuneless way he was humming in the kitchen on her first day here and can’t help but to wonder how his voice sounds.  
  
She settles a little further back against the chair and lets her hand hang out of the window. The feeling of the wind rushing against her hand is just frightening enough to be nice. She doesn’t pull it back in. She does watch Peeta, though. He’s easy enough to ride with, though she supposes she really doesn’t have anyone to compare him to.  
  
She prefers this, riding in the car, infinitely compared to the shopping they did yesterday. Not that she doesn’t appreciate all of the money that Peeta spent on her. Today is just easier for her. She wonders if it’s easier for him, too. If he likes driving more than he likes shopping.  


She thinks, not for the first time, of her sister. Prim would love the shopping. Katniss can’t help but to think that her sister would be happy that Katniss is getting to be in something closer to her element. She wishes she could talk to her sister about this. See if the money is helping. If her sister has forgiven her yet for keeping it a secret, her signing up.  
  
The national park, so far as Katniss can tell, is a lot like her forest. Peeta parks and comes around to help Katniss out of the car even though she’s sure that they both know she could get out herself. He leads her into a small building, and she can’t help but to look around while Peeta signs them in. He explained this part to her before, while they packed their things up. He said he would call first thing in the morning to reserve a place.  
  
There are _animals_ in glass boxes all over the room. Perfectly preserved and still. Katniss finds herself examining the squirrel, trying to figure out how it was taken down.  
  
Peeta explains, almost sheepishly, that the campground is a little bit of a hike from here, but she assures him that it’s okay.  
  
“I like it. Being outside, I mean,” she says.

   


* * *

 

“So . . . how come you didn’t tell me?” Katniss asks when they reach the end of the trail that separates the area where they set up camp from the lake. Peeta gives her that shy smile she’s getting so very accustomed to and rakes his hand through his hair.  
  
“It may have slipped my mind. And then . . . well, once I remembered, I may have just wanted to see your reaction to it.”    
  
She should be frustrated that Peeta neglected to mention this earlier, she thinks. It’s hard to even fathom that, though, when she’s faced with the massive lake at their feet. So she heads a little closer to the water. She looks over her shoulder at Peeta and he pulls the backpack off of his back, bringing it around front to hold it up. She’s pretty sure that he’s using it as an excuse not to follow her, but she’s beyond caring.  
She’s grateful that she changed from her heavy jeans into a pair of shorts, no matter how surprised Peeta looked when she came out of the tent in them. Because she barely even hesitates before she takes her boots off and puts her toes in the water.  
  
Peeta sits down not too far from the water’s edge. She glances over her shoulder at him and he smiles, so she goes a little bit further. The water is a pretty good temperature, especially for it being as early into the spring as it is. It’s a little bit cold, but she’s hot from the walk anyway, so she enjoys it. And besides, she swam as early as possible as many times as possible at her lake outside of District Twelve.  
  
There’s something about swimming for the first time all season. Katniss has always liked it. The way that her muscles instantly recall the motions without having any real reason to after all of the months they’ve gone without deep water like this. She doesn’t even remember learning how to swim. She just remembers splashing around in the water near Twelve with her father. Doing somersaults. She does that now. Tries not to focus on the way that Peeta is watching her when she surfaces for air.  
  
How strange it is, feeling something as familiar as swimming in the Capitol! She almost wishes Peeta had come out with her, if only because she wants to swim out a little bit further without feeling guilty about it. Does Peeta have memories of swimming with his father? Is that part of what he liked so much about coming out here? Not for the first time today, Katniss thinks of her sister. Prim would love this, being in the woods without hunting. The times when Katniss took her out, they could never do much more than foraging, because it upset her so much to see an animal dead.  
  
  
Peeta smiles at her when she finally emerges and moves over on the blanket he’s been sitting on so he can offer her most of it. She squeezes some of the water out of her braid before she takes a seat. There’s a book in his lap, but before she really gets a good look at it, he’s closing it and moving it off to the side. She’s almost sure he was drawing in it.  
  
“Are you hungry yet?” Peeta asks. She nods, watching him as he gets the lunchbox from the backpack. “Good. Me too.”  
  
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Katniss says.  
  
“I wanted to. What fun is it eating alone?”  
  
“You should have come out with me,” Katniss decides. “The water felt nice.”  
  
He grins. “No, I was fine out here. You looked like you were having a good time.”  
  
“It couldn’t have been fun just sitting here and watching me,” Katniss says, slightly more accusatory than she means to be. Peeta hands her a sandwich in a bag and she wastes no time getting into it. It’s peanut butter. She sort of smiles at the familiar taste. They had peanut butter sometimes. It was substantial enough, good enough to justify spending the money on. It was Prim’s favorite.  
  
“You’ve got an awful habit of underestimating yourself, Katniss,” Peeta says. “It was just nice. Seeing you happy, I mean.”  
  
A thought hits her a moment later. “Do you know how to swim?”  
  
“I must be pretty obvious,” Peeta says, and he’s clearly amused rather than offended, so she’s glad. “No. I can’t.”  
  
“Why?” Katniss asks. “Are you afraid of the water?”  
  
He shakes his head. “I mean . . . well, I know I could drown or whatever, but I just didn’t ever learn to swim. My father didn’t know either. I always wanted to learn.”  
  
She thinks about it for a moment. “Then I’ll teach you.”  
  
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh. No, you don’t have to do that. I hope you don’t think I was trying to guilt trip you or manipulate you.”  
  
Katniss reaches up and messes with her braid. She’s embarrassed, now, for even bringing it up. “I’m not easily guilt tripped,” she says, glancing over at him. “I offered because you should know how to swim and I can teach you.” Which isn’t to mention a few other valid reasons she can think of, including the fact that he’s spent so much time and money on her and this is something she can do to at least _try_ and level the playing field.  
  
This makes him smile. “If you’re sure . . .”  
  
“I’m sure.”  
  
So, after they’re finished eating, – she had the second half of his sandwich after he assured her he wasn’t going to eat it – she convinces him that she _wants_ him to come out to the water with her. She’s in the water long before he’s finished taking his sneakers off. She tries to afford him privacy while he does, no matter how much she wants to see his leg.  
  
“How should we start?” he asks, rubbing his hands together like he’s nervous.  
  
“By getting in the water,” Katniss can’t help but to say. “We’re not going too far today. I just want you to float.”  
  
Peeta takes a few steps into the water but hesitates.  
  
“Ask me a question,” Katniss suggests.  
  
“Favorite color?”  
  
She glances around. “Green.”  
  
He laughs. “Should’ve seen that one coming, I guess.”  
  
“What’s yours?”  
  
“Orange.”  
  
She must make a face, because he’s quick to explain.  
  
“Not too bright. More like sunset.”  
  
She can picture it. Soft. Beautiful. She kind of smiles.  
  
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he begins, and she’s sure it’s going to be a terrible question. “Why did you sign up if you weren’t banking on anyone ordering you?”  
  
She clears her throat before she speaks. “You won’t like the answer,” she warns.  
  
He laughs. “Thanks for the warning, but go on, please.”  
  
“Come a little further into the water, please,” she suggests, taking a few steps backwards. He follows her.  
  
“I needed the money,” Katniss admits, suddenly deeply ashamed. She hadn’t really thought about what the implications of her signing up would be for Peeta yet. But now it’s out there. There’s no way that he ordered her knowing that she didn’t _want_ to leave, and now here she is, missing home terribly, and it’s not like he can send her back or exchange her for someone who _wants_ to be here.  
  
It was supposed to be a revolutionary thing, the Ordered Spouse Program. It was introduced a couple of decades after the War, supposed to be a way of making amends between the Districts and the Capitol. Of mending relationships or whatever it was the President had said.  
The spouses can be from anywhere and theoretically, they can be _sent_ anywhere. For instance, a woman from Twelve could order a husband from District Eight and it would all work out. Only, nobody in the Districts had the money to waste on something as trivial as a _spouse_. And even though those options still exist, they hardly ever happen. No, it’s just the people in the Capitol that order their spouses.  
  
To his credit, he takes it well. “How much did they give you?”  
  
“Do you really want to know?”  
  
He nods.   
  
“Wage and a half of what I was making at my job in the mines. Two month’s worth, all at once.”  
  
He doesn’t seem completely devastated or anything. He just keeps looking at her, as if he’s trying to process all of this information. She can’t blame him for it, either.  
  
“Lean back,” Katniss demands. “You’re way too tense.”  
  
  
  
He wraps the blanket around her shoulders as they head back. It’s a sweet gesture, really, and she can’t pretend she doesn’t appreciate it, considering how soaked she is.  
  
“You aren’t too cold, are you?” Peeta asks.  
  
She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. Happier once I get into some dry clothes, probably.”  
  
He smiles. “Thanks for that, back there, Katniss.”  
  
She stops and looks up at him. “I wasn’t sure you liked it.”  
  
He hadn’t _complained_ , really, but he was so quiet after her confession about the money. And then, even when she did get him to the point where he was floating well enough on his back, he kept just looking at her. “I’m sorry. I really did like it,” Peeta assures her. “It was more than a little nerve wracking, though. Probably just because it was the first time. Plus you’re so much better than me.”  
  
“More practice,” she says. “Don’t expect me to be any good in the kitchen once you start teaching me.”  
  
“So I _was_ bad, then,” Peeta teases, and she sort of smiles.  
  
“Not the worst I’ve seen.”  
  
He laughs. “I think I’ll get a trophy made with those words on it. _Peeta Mellark. Not the worst Katniss has seen_.”  
  
“How did you know I would like it here?” she asks. Other than making sure he was okay in the water, this is the first question she’s really asked since they talked about her reasons for signing up. Peeta seems a little relieved that she’s continuing their game.  
  
“Lucky guess,” he answers, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Is it anything like the woods outside of Twelve?”  
  
“A lot,” she answers. “Same kind of trees, I think.”  
  
“It isn’t too much, is it?”  
  
“No. It’s perfect,” she assures him and he grins. It’s funny, the way something so simple as being happy can make him happy as well.

  
They get their bags and walk to the bathrooms near the campsite. She’d hate to admit how much she likes something here in the Capitol, but the idea of indoor plumbing while they’re camping is a good one.  
  
Peeta is sitting outside when she comes out. He’s already changed into a pair of sweatpants and a light tee shirt, and on his nose rests a pair of wire framed glasses.  
  
“Where did you get those?” she asks, and he grins.  
  
“The eye doctor?”  
  
“You weren’t wearing them before,” she says.  
  
“Contacts,” he explains, and when she doesn’t understand what he’s saying, his smile softens a little. “Oh, they’re _like_ glasses, I guess. They correct my vision, just without these,” he motions up towards his glasses. “I wanted to get them out before I started the fire. Smoke can irritate my eyes, sometimes.”  
  
She nods. They head back for the tent.  


* * *

  
It turns out Peeta is a whiz with fires. He coaxes a flame out within moments of squatting down in front of the pit.  
  
“Impressive,” Katniss says, and he looks up at her with a modest smile.  
  
“I try. Have I told you how much I love to see you in that shirt?”  
  
It’s the red plaid one he gave her on her first night here. She had grabbed it because it looked like it would be the warmest, not exactly realizing that it was his until right now. She gives him a little smile of her own. “I like it. It’s nice.”  
  
She sits down beside the fire pit. She watches the trees and squirrels overhead, her fingers itching for her bow even though she knows that it’s still in the woods outside of Twelve. That’s not even to mention the fact that there wouldn’t be any reason for hunting here. Not with a husband with access to any sort of food she could possibly want.  
  
Except maybe for groosling. Or wild turkey. Squirrel meat. The list begins to write itself in her mind and she sighs, tugging her sleeves down until they cover her hands and angling her head down to watch the fire instead.  
  
“Are you ready to see it yet?” he asks.  
  
“What?” Katniss asks.  
  
“My leg. I saw you looking at the foot earlier, when we were swimming. Which is fine. I mean, I probably should have told you right off the bat, for one, and you should have seen it by now, for another.”  
  
She has to admit she _is_ curious. She must examine him for too long because he moves a little bit closer to her and rolls his pant leg up until it’s above his knee. She can see the spot where the flesh meets the metal, where it’s fused there. Without really thinking about it, she reaches her hand out to touch the prosthetic, jerking it back when she thinks better of it. She hasn’t even really touched it.  
  
“I don’t mind,” Peeta says, though he’s not really looking at her. She wonders how strange this must be for him. Still, her hand touches what would be his shin. It’s cold. “You’re not going to knock it out of place or anything. It’s attached to the bone. My, ah, my friend Cato was driving. He was real big into texting at the time. Never listened to anyone about how stupid it was to do it while you were driving, least of all me.”  
  
It takes her a moment to catch up with him, she was so focused on the leg. Her hand lingers but she looks up at him, watching his face while he speaks.  
  
“Anyway, he was driving to this movie one day, and we were gonna meet his new girlfriend there and he was . . . he was checking to see if she was already there or something stupid like that. And then there was this massive semi truck just . . . it was swerving all over the place – we found out later that the driver was drunk. I swear, I’m a walking public service announcement about safe driving.”  
  
“What happened?” she asks, deciding that it probably doesn’t matter in the long run what a _semi truck_ is.  
  
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he says. “Woke up in the hospital with a new leg. Cato was a little banged up too, but I got the worst of it. Never heard from him again.”  
  
“That’s terrible,” she says.  
  
“I lived,” he says, motioning down at his leg. She pulls her hand away and sets in her lap awkwardly.  
  
“He should have apologized.”  
  
“I don’t know what he could have said at that point,” Peeta says. “It’s probably a good thing he hasn’t tried to contact me.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she says. She doesn’t know what else there is to say.  
  
“I didn’t tell you so you’d be sorry,” Peeta assures her. “Okay. Say we lighten the mood a little. It’s your turn, right? Tell me a story.”  
  
“A story?” she asks.  
  
“The happiest story you can remember,” Peeta specifies, moving back a little bit closer to where he was before. She watches his expressions while she tells about getting Prim’s goat, and it’s amazing how much he seems to care despite never having seen her sister.  
  
“Was the goat still wearing the ribbon?” Peeta asks when she recalls the part where Lady licked her sister’s cheek that night.  
  
“I think so. Why?”  
  
“Just trying to get a mental image,” he assures her. “So you’re the oldest, right?”  
  
She’s a little ashamed she hasn’t told him this yet. “Yeah.”  
  
“By how much?”  
  
“Four years,” Katniss answers. “Feels like a thousand sometimes, though. She’s still so young when I picture her.”  
  
This makes him smile. “I always wanted a kid sibling. Mostly because my brothers were always teasing me when we were growing up. I guess I thought it might help if there was someone on my side.”  
  
“You and Rye seemed close,” she points out.  
  
“Yeah, well to his credit, Rye _has_ grown up, if only a little. Stopped teasing me as much.”    
  
“He was pretty hard on you at dinner,” Katniss points out, and Peeta grins.  
  
“Well, he _was_ on his best behavior. They all were, believe it or not,” he says.  
  
She wonders if he’s ever going to believe her that it wasn’t that bad. 

* * *

  
  
They roast their own dinner. He calls them hot dogs. She’s glad for another familiar thing, like cooking her own meat. The thought of the letter surfaces again, because this is something she would like to include, but she forces it back down. She refuses to ruin such a nice day with a fight. She isn’t ready for that quite yet.  
  
“When am I going to stop being so tired?” Katniss asks when she yawns. “I’ve never slept this much.”  
  
He smiles. “Eventually. I guess my father was pretty exhausted at first, too, but now he keeps baker’s hours, so there’s hope, I guess.”  
  
“Did he talk about it a lot when you were growing up? Being ordered?”  
  
“Not really. I mean, he may have mentioned the woman he was in love with a few times, but we only really got to talking about it after I made up my mind that I was going to order you. I think he wanted to make sure I would be more understanding than my mother. Not that it was a concern! I wouldn’t . . . it’s just that it’s easy, I think, to forget how different things can be.”  
  
It’s almost stressful, trying to keep up with him. “I had never been in a car before,” she admits, not sure why it slips out.  
  
“Wow,” he says lowly. “Never?”  
  
“Never,” she confirms. “And I had never heard of contacts. Or bionic legs. Or national parks.”  
  
He laughs. “I hope it’s not too much.”  
  
“I’m a big girl,” she assures him. “I can handle it. Wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t.”  
  
She would have. At times she’s starting to think she _did_ come even though she can’t handle it. The contract was binding. Nothing could have stopped her from leaving, no matter how much she wanted it to. She wonders if Peeta knows this. If he does, his expression doesn’t give it away. She’s not sure why this makes her happy.

  
He only seems to notice the fact that there’s only one sleeping bag when they’re settling in after another trip to the bathrooms to brush their teeth. She hadn’t really thought about it either.  
  
“You take it,” he says when she hesitates. “I don’t mind. Seriously.”  
  
She shakes her head. She’s not going to take his father’s camping bag. “Let’s share it. Like the bed.”  
  
She thinks he’s going to think it’s a terrible idea, but he just settles in, motioning for her to join him before he zips it up. She rests her head on what she thinks is the ground. It ends up being his arm. She tells herself it isn’t allowed to be strange and looks up at the stars through the mesh top of the peak of the tent.  
  
“You could see the stars every night in Twelve,” she says, trying not to sound too wistful. “No matter where you were.”  
  
It’s quiet for a moment. “I always thought I would end up there.”  
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“It was when I was young and silly. I wanted to study art and then move to Twelve.  Get inspired, I guess. See if I could get a job at the bakery, with the side of my family that knows nothing about my mother.”  
  
“Why?” she asks. “There’s nothing to be inspired by there.”  
  
“But you guys rebuilt yourself from _scratch_. It’s amazing.”  
  
“There isn’t much there,” Katniss assures him. She’s not sure why she’s so adamant about this. “It’s . . . it’s all gray and lifeless, even now. And there are plaques everywhere, honoring the dead. Talking about historical significance. They roped the Victor’s Village off, even though everyone would kill for a house that nice. They say it’s a landmark. People come to visit it. I think it’s ridiculous.”  
  
His chest shakes a little bit. He’s _laughing_ at her. She tries to sit up, but the sleeping bag pretty much keeps her in place. “Hey, I’m not making fun of you,” Peeta says gently. “It’s just . . . I haven’t seen you this worked up about anything yet. It’s sort of cute.”  
  
 _Cute_.  She settles back a little bit, looking at the stars again. She can’t remember ever being called _cute_ before. Not since her sister was born, at least. Prim is certainly the cute one out of the two. She doesn’t know how she feels about it, being cute. She doesn’t dislike it, at least. 

* * *

  
  
Peeta has his first experience with her dreams that night. She had a nightmare the second night, but she had limited herself to the far side of the bed, so she couldn’t possibly have expected Peeta to know what was happening.  
  
Tonight is different. It takes a moment for her to regain control afterwards. To realize it was just a dream. She spots the cooler across the tent and tries to sit up, wanting badly to grab a bottle of water. The sleeping bag holds her to Peeta, though, and she struggles against it, trying to push down the sense of unease that’s growing inside her chest. Peeta must feel her shift, though, because he unzips the sleeping bag. She sits up, breathing heavily.  
  
“Hey, hey, Katniss,” Peeta says, his voice soft and soothing. His forehead rests against her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  
  
Her bottom lip trembles.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “I’m a pretty good listener.”  
  
She shakes her head. She can’t tell him about it, because she would have to explain why it is that the thought of the mines exploding is so terrible. She would have to tell him about how her sister wasted away. How in her dream, she could do nothing about it. She could barely even do anything about it in real life, not at first, anyway.  
  
“Can I use your phone?” Katniss asks instead, and Peeta sits up a little straighter.    
  
“Of course you can. It’s over on top of the cooler.”  
  
She’s relieved when he doesn’t ask what she needs it for. Thankfully, it opens to the screen he showed her earlier, so she taps Scarlett’s name and takes her time trying to compose the right message.  
  
  
 _It’s Katniss. I need to get a letter to my sister. Can you help? Don’t tell Peeta._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal thanks to Modernlifeofash and Gentlemama on Tumblr for their help with this chapter. :)  
> The song Peeta is singing is, as mentioned in the last author's note, Folkin' Around by Panic! At The Disco.   
> And you guys have no idea how happy it makes me to read all the comments that last chapter got. I am amazed and grateful.  
> Also, another note, my plans for the summer have changed. My friend and I are staying in town. So updates shouldn't be as few and far between as I had thought they would!


	7. Chapter Seven

Katniss wakes up completely entangled in Peeta. So much so that she’s pulled back against him when she tries to roll off onto her side. It’s a natural thing for Peeta, who is currently uninhibited by sleep. And for some reason, she doesn’t want to take this from him. So she tries to relax into him a little and turns back to the way she was before, facing his chest. He makes a small, content noise in his sleep. She doesn’t dare move her feet from where they’re wedged between his shins. He’s sort of red, particularly on his cheeks. Probably a result of spending so much time in the sun yesterday.   
  
She’s not ready to wake him up yet. He stayed up late enough with her last night. She wanted to see if Scarlett would respond and he wanted to make sure Katniss was okay. He must have offered to talk about it about five times last night. She even almost wanted to tell him by about the eighth time. There’s so much, though, that she’s not entirely sure she’s ready for him to know. Things she’s not ready to talk about quite yet. She’s not sure how she could force the words out to explain just what happened to her father. Or to her mother after the explosion.   
As most trains of thoughts do, this one leads her to Prim. She decided last night that even if Scarlett agrees to send a letter, she probably won’t want to do it particularly often. Katniss wouldn’t ask her to. She’s well aware, now, of how much she’s asking of Scarlett. She even feels bad about it, expecting her to lie to her brother in law. Maybe even to her husband.   
So this first letter, this _only_ letter, will have to be long. She’s going to have to tell Prim about everything she can possibly fit onto the page. She’ll have to tell her about Peeta, most importantly. If Prim is thinking anything similar to what Katniss had been thinking, she’ll be relieved to know how much better Peeta is than he could be. She also decides that she needs to tell Prim about the connection between the  Mellark family and the bakers in Twelve. Maybe that will set her mind at ease, at least a little.   
Assuming her sister even reads the letter.   
  
After a while, Peeta stirs in his sleep. She’s looking up at him, marveling at how very long his eyelashes are in the right light, when his eyes slide open. She tries to look away, a little ashamed of herself for spying, but with them being so close, there’s nowhere to really look. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, he smiles at her.   
  
“Hey there,” Peeta says, his voice thick with sleep. “Have you been up long?”   
  
She starts to shake her head but settles on shrugging. “Didn’t want to wake you up again.”   
  
“Well, that’s silly,” Peeta says as she gets to work stretching out. “It’s not your fault you’re awake.”   
  
“Can I check your phone?” Katniss asks, climbing out of the bag and stretching her back out. “I want to see if she – if they wrote back. If that’s okay.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Peeta says, running his hand through his hair. “We should probably go ahead and plan on getting you your own one of these days. Give you a little more freedom.”   
  
A phone? For her? She wonders if she should tell him that she would have no use for it. He seems pretty happy with himself for thinking of it, though, so she manages a smile. “That’s very generous of you.”   
  
Scarlett’s response came only a few minutes ago. She’s sort of relieved. At least she’ll have an answer.   
  
**Scarlett: _  
_** _Hey, Katniss. Can I ask why we’re not telling Peeta?_  
  
It takes a moment for Katniss to come up with the right answer. Shouldn’t Scarlett understand? Has she really gotten so used to being with Rye that she doesn’t understand?   
  
_Don’t want to bother him.  
  
_ **Scarlett:  
** _I can guarantee you it wouldn’t be a bother. He would trip over himself to help with anything you asked him for._  
  
She looks up at him. He’s sitting patiently enough at the other side of the tent, but he’s definitely watching her. She drops her eyes back down to the phone quickly.   
  
_Please help me. I just want my sister to know I’m okay._  
  
 **Scarlett:  
** _I’ll help. And even though I’m honored to be the one you ask, I really want you to consider talking to Peeta about this.  
  
_ **Scarlett:**  
 _Remember what we talked about. He’s a good guy. I promise.  
  
_ She sort of sighs.   
  
_Thank you. I’m giving the phone back now_.

 

  
“Do you want to get going?” Peeta asks, and she nods. She’s slightly more relieved than she should be when he slides the phone into the pocket of his sweatpants without reading over her conversation. It’s quiet while they gather their things but once they start heading to the restrooms Peeta apparently can’t take it anymore. He bumps his shoulder against hers, maybe to get her attention. “You know, the offer to talk about it still stands. You seemed pretty shaken last night.”   
  
“It was just a dream,” Katniss says quickly and defensively. “I’m sorry.”   
  
“It’s okay,” Peeta says. “I get them too, it’s just that it might help, talking about it.”   
  
She shakes her head. It’s hard, convincing herself that he’s genuinely concerned and not just prying, but she tries.   
  
Thankfully, he accepts the answer. They part ways once they reach the little building, and she stares at her reflection for a moment after she’s finished brushing her teeth. Here in this brightly lit bathroom, in a shirt that used to belong to her _husband,_ it’s getting increasingly hard to remember who she is and who she is not.

                                                                 

She wears the shorts again, since they’ve had time to dry and she’s hoping against hope that he’ll let her back in the water. The camisole fit well enough under the tank top yesterday, so she pairs it with another dark tank top today. She might possibly be stalling when she puts her hair into a slightly neater braid, but she thinks it’s justified.   
  
He’s waiting for her when she comes out, and the glasses are gone again.   
  
“What do you want to do today?” he asks.   
  
She shrugs. “Whatever you want. I’m not picky.”   
  
“Yeah, but you’ve got to have a preference,” Peeta says. “I don’t, personally. I’m just happy to be out here.”   
  
She doesn’t want to be too hopeful, but she can’t help herself. “Could we go to the lake again?”   
  
“Of course,” Peeta says, grinning. “I sort of figured you’d say that. Didn’t want jeans weighing me down again, I mean,” he says, motioning down towards his leg.   
  
He’s wearing shorts and she tries not to stare, but she can see all of the fake leg now. It’s pretty reflective in the sun. She sort of wonders if she could go blind looking at it. When she glances back up at him, he offers her a small smile. She’s glad he’s not upset with her.   
  
“You’re ready to get back in the water already?” she asks.   
  
“Were you not planning on dragging me back into the water?” Peeta asks, grinning. “I mean, I’d be good on the shore.”   
  
“No, it’s not that,” she assures him. “I’m sort of impressed.”   
  
“Impressed?” Peeta asks, clearly proud of himself. She wants to tease him. To make some kind of a comment about him being a first timer. She doesn’t go through with it, though. She’s not exactly sure how he would take it.   
  
“We should get going,” Katniss suggests. “We’re burning daylight.”   
  
He smiles. “Couldn’t agree more. Lead the way.”  


* * *

 

  
Peeta brings their breakfast to the lake. They sit on the shore together, side by side and barefoot, and eat small boxes of _cereal_. It’s brightly colored and slightly too sweet, but she doesn’t tell him that.

“What did you say you used to do when you came here with your father? It wasn’t swimming, obviously.”   
  
He laughs. “Yeah, no swimming for the Mellarks. We hiked a lot. I think we went fishing a couple of times.”   
  
“Fishing? You can fish here?” she asks eagerly.   
  
“Yeah. There’s a dock around here somewhere. Did you fish? In Twelve?”

She nods. It’s surprising, almost, how interested he is. “Sometimes. With these poles my father made.”   
  
“We’re going to have to get some poles and come back.”   
  
She feels almost giddy. They’re coming back. “I’d like that a lot.”   
  
“I would, too,” Peeta agrees. “I have a friend from Four. I think you’d like him. He’s a real outdoorsman.”   
  
She can’t help but to think of Gale, who only ever really seemed alive in the woods. Maybe, in her letter, she can convince Prim to tell him she’s fine. He had been particularly concerned.  
She leans back, propping herself up on her elbows to soak in as much sun as possible.   
  
“Oh! That reminds me,” Peeta says, digging around in the bag and holding a white bottle up triumphantly. “I’ll do your back if you’ll do mine.”   
  
It’s quiet while she tries to figure out what’s in the bottle. He laughs uncomfortably.   
  
“That’s a lie. I’ll do your back either way.”   
  
She sort of smiles. “No. I can do your back.”   
  
He looks a little more relieved than she thinks he probably should. She wonders why he thinks she’s so fragile. Maybe he’s right. It’s not like she hasn’t given him plenty of reasons to think that she’ll start crying out of the blue. “So, ah, what is this?” Katniss asks, holding her hand out for him to fill.    
  
“Sunblock. I completely forgot about it yesterday. Got a little burned.”   
  
She can see that.  
  
He waits until she’s behind him to – rather sheepishly – tug his shirt over his head. She’s not as uncomfortable as she usually would be as her fingertips as she applies the stuff. He _needs_ it, she justifies. Her fingertips dance over the clear line of where his shirt stopped protecting him. He’s not terribly burned, but his arms are a good shade or two different from the paleness across his back.   
  
“I didn’t know there was anything that could _stop_ you from getting burned,” she muses.   
  
“What do you mean?” Peeta asks. “What did you do about it in Twelve?”   
  
“My mother had a plant they used. Afterwards, I mean. They’re both so pale. I guess it made it hurt less when they burned.”  
   
He chuckles. “Yeah, we have something like that here. Of course, I forgot to bring it, because that’s how good at packing I am.”  
  
She realizes the way her hands are lingering on his warm skin and yanks them away. “Um, I think that’s your whole back.”   
  
“Feels like it. Thank you so much, Katniss. Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”   
  
She smiles weakly, suddenly uncomfortable. “No, it’s fine.”   
  
“Should I go ahead and get yours now?” he asks. “I mean, I think we’re both good to do our fronts.”   
  
“That would be good. Thank you.”   
  
He turns to face her as he heads to stand behind her, and she tries not to look at his chest, but she can’t help but to. He’s about as stocky as he looks with a shirt on, but without it his muscles are clearly defined.    
  
He brushes her hair over to rest on one shoulder, and she shudders at the gentle touch.   
  
“Sorry!” he says, and she believes him. “I just didn’t want to get it in your hair.”   
  
“It’s okay,” she says.   
  
He’s relieved enough for a small sigh to escape. She listens as he gets some sunblock for his own hand and she tries to prepare herself, but she’s still a little bit startled by the coldness of it. She’s the one to apologize this time.   
  
“For what?” Peeta asks. He’s finished with her back much more quickly than she finished his. “It’s gotta dry, just for a little while, or else it’ll wash off. Though you can barely tell you were outside at all yesterday.”   
  
“I think my skin is used to it,” she says. “I never burn. I got it from my father.”   
  
He smiles. “Well, better safe than sorry, right?”   
  
She watches while he spreads the sunblock up and down his arm and leg. “Yeah, probably. How long is a little while?” she asks, itching to get in the water.   
  
“You’re probably good to go, considering how little you need it,” he says.   
  
She takes a step towards the water. “Do you want me to wait for you?”   
  
He laughs. “No. No, of course not.”   
  
Just like yesterday, she’s the first one in the water. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy Peeta how to swim yesterday, but it’s nice to be free in the water. Today, she’s able to go further into the water, to dive in and out of the water without having to worry about how Peeta is faring in the water.   
  
She wonders what her father would think. He would be happy, she hopes, that she found another lake. Maybe a little bit sad that it’s not his lake. That’s okay. Katniss is a little bit sad about that, too. But in a pinch, this is a more than adequate substitute. So she lingers not on the fact that her father has never been in this water but instead on the way it feels between her toes. She spends a lot of time out there, swimming out until Peeta is really just a spot out on the shore. Figuring that he can probably see her about as well as she can see him, she starts to do flips. That used to be her favorite part about swimming. Doing flips and gathering roots with her father. She wonders if they have katniss roots here. Probably not, considering the fact that Peeta had to ask what her name meant.   
  
The day is nearly perfect. She thinks it’s her favorite since she got here. Only, she can’t quite figure out why it is that Peeta doesn’t seem to want to come out with her. He has seemed interested enough in the morning. At least, she had _thought_ he has wanted to go. Maybe he thought he couldn’t get out of it and now that there’s a way he can, he’s going to take that opportunity. She just can’t figure out why it is he wouldn’t tell her that he didn’t like swimming. Does he not think she would understand? She’s not sure if she would, if she’s being honest. Not with the way he acted last night. If she had known he hadn’t enjoyed it, then she wouldn’t have asked to come back out today.   
  
She’s sure that his sunblock is dry by now. There’s no way it takes that long to dry, is there? No, as she gets closer to him, it becomes clearer that his hesitation has less to do with the water and more with the phone he holds in his lap. He’s holding it about as far away as he can. Clearly, something he read on it has upset him. She feels a little bit sick when she realizes what he must have read.   
  
“Hey,” Peeta says with a forced smile. It takes him a minute to pull his eyes away from the screen. “Are you tired already? Should I have made you wait thirty minutes before getting in the water?”   
  
“What?” she asks, confused.   
  
“Oh, you know. They say, after eating, you’re supposed to wait . . .” he trails off. This is the first time she’s seen him this obviously faking it. At least, she thinks, she can rest assured that his usual pleasantries are genuine now. That’s indisputable now that she has this to compare it to.”You’re supposed to wait half an hour. So you don’t cramp, I guess. I’m not sure. Nobody really believes it, but it’s been around forever.”   
  
It’s quiet for a long moment. She keeps looking between Peeta and the phone, waiting for him to say something, but it’s clear that he won’t be one to bring it up. She’s incredibly uncomfortable, just waiting for him to bring it up. She almost wonders how hard it would be for her to get away. To pretend like she doesn’t realize what’s wrong and get back in the lake. She knows better, though. Knows that this isn’t something she can run away from. So she shifts uncomfortably, squeezes the water out of her braid, and sighs.   
  
“You saw it,” she decides. She knew this would happen. Peeta looks up at her, startled. As if he forgot she was there.   
  
“Katniss . . .” he says with a sigh. “You should probably go ahead and have a seat.”   
  
 Why this upsets her as much as it does, she’s not sure, but she does as he asks and crosses her legs, making sure to sit down a safe couple of feet away from him. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil. Sorry. 
> 
> Eternal gratitude to Bethanie (Gentlemama) and Ash (Modernlifeofash) for their beta goodness. And to everyone who has left reviews. :) More backstory next chapter. Next chapter in . . . I don't know when. Soonish. I'll be gone for the next week, but I'm already working on chapter eight so, there's that.


	8. Chapter 8

She didn’t fight with Gale. He had never even been _mad_ at her, not really, until he found out she had gotten herself put on the registry. His anger, usually directed at the Capitol was in full force towards her, and boy did he let her have it. He was right, of course, when he told her how irresponsible it was to sign up. He knew she would be ordered. Called her names for not realizing it. She never had much of a response, not really. Maybe because she knew he was right, but probably because she knew nothing she could tell him would shut him up.   
He thought Prim deserved to know. He was right about that, too. But that didn’t make her listen. Katniss didn’t want to have that conversation with her sister. She hadn’t wanted to have it with Gale, either, but the news got to him in the mines and when he asked her what the hell she was thinking, she begged him to wait until they reached the woods. She let him lecture her there. Gave up on trying to explain how foolproof her plan was once she realized that he wasn’t listening. After a long time, he went silent, too.   
Katniss Everdeen does not do well with fights.

Katniss _Mellark_ , on the other hand, seems to be doing even worse. She can’t even look at Peeta. Can’t bring herself to. She’s not sure what’s waiting for her. The only thing she has to compare this silence between them to is the silence that would pass between her and Gale when he was angry beyond all words. She clears her throat, trying to get him to get it over with. Just get him to yell at her.   
  
“I’m not mad at you,” Peeta says. “And I hope you won’t be mad at me. I wasn’t going through your messages. At least, not on purpose. I saw a text from Scarlett that said something like _on second thought, just call me_ , and I figured it was for me. I mean, I’m not sure who I thought you were texting last night, but Scarlett honestly didn’t even cross my mind. So, anyway, I found out what was going on, and I should have closed it out as soon as I realized what it was. And I’m sorry about that.”   
  
She nods, hoping that the conversation will end there. It doesn’t, though.   
  
“All that said, I think this is something we ought to talk about. Okay?”   
  
She doesn’t answer. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say. He waits until she nods, though, to speak again.   
  
“So, first and foremost, I want you to know that I’m glad you like Scarlett. Honestly, I am. If there’s one thing you should take from this, I want it to be that. It’s just . . . Okay, I know this sounds silly and selfish and sort of terrible, but I guess, maybe I just figured that if you were going to have an ally here, it would be me.”   
  
An _ally._ It’s an interesting way to put it.   
  
“Does that make any sense?” Peeta asks. He’s a little bit more nervous than she thinks he probably should be. When is he going to get to the yelling part?   
  
She nods.   
  
“So, you know, you and I _have_ spent a fair amount of time together, now. And . . . I just, I can’t help but to wonder. You know? Is there a reason that you didn’t feel like this was something you could talk to me about?” Peeta asks.   
  
She shakes her head. It’s quiet for a long moment, and she can tell that he doesn’t believe her.   
  
“If this isn’t a conversation you want to have with me, I understand. I’m just concerned that maybe I’m sending the wrong message, here. Did you really think I would say no if you asked?”   
  
This does it. A tear slides down her cheek before she can get a hand up to wipe it away. “I didn’t _want_ you to.” She’s mortified at the way her voice breaks.   
  
“Katniss,” Peeta says.   
  
She shakes her head. “I thought, you know, if I could get around this by just making sure Prim knew I was okay, I could keep you from getting angry at me. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”    
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Peeta says. “I’m not angry at you. I just . . . I never would have told you no. Never. Not in a million years.”   
  
“Just get it over with,” Katniss says. “Yell at me, or _something_.”   
  
Peeta sighs. “Katniss? Will you _please_ stop making all these many assumptions about me?”   
  
Finally, he sounds at least a little bit exasperated. It’s _something_ , she thinks. Maybe, if she gets him upset enough to admit that he’s angry, they can get somewhere.    
  
“You’re mad,” she presses. “I just . . . You don’t have to pretend like I didn’t –”  
  
“Want to talk to your sister?” Peeta asks. “That’s not a major offense, believe it or not.”   
  
Her bottom lip trembles. “I don’t . . . I know I went behind your back, is all.”   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Peeta rake a hand through his hair. “I’m not some kind of a monster, Katniss. Whatever reaction you think you’re going to get out of me over this, I can pretty much guarantee you it’s the wrong one. I’m a little bit disappointed, sure. But it’s only because I would have loved to be the one you felt comfortable enough to talk to about this.”   
  
She shakes her head at him. “I don’t. Think you’re some kind of a monster. I just . . . I know I shouldn’t have done what I did. Gone behind your back like that.”   
  
“Is it going to make you feel better, or something, if I lecture you?” Peeta asks. “Tell you that I want you to be able to come to me about things? Because, I mean, I guess I can try. Something like . . .” he clears his throat, adopts a deeper, lower voice. “ _Katniss, I am so disappointed in you_. Nope. No, I can’t do it.”   
  
Peeta is smiling at her, if only a little. At least she can tell he’s joking.   
  
“That’s the worst part. You know? It’s like . . . I don’t even know what you think about me. What kind of a person you think I am. You have this wall up – and I completely understand. You’re uncomfortable. You have every right to be uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong. I can’t even _imagine_ what this must be like for you. Especially if you think I’m gonna fly off the handle at any moment. And I took you out to the middle of the woods. Like _that’s_ going to put you at ease about the kind of a guy I am.”   
  
She chews her bottom lip. “It’s not like that.”   
  
“Bottom line, here, okay? I’m _not_ mad at you. I’m not going to yell at you. I don’t want to be fighting with you –”   
  
“You’re too nice to me!” she interrupts, her voice a little bit louder than it should be. Peeta stops what he’s saying immediately. “You’re way too nice. Calling to get my bag back and buying me clothes and taking me out here. When you were . . . last night, you were so worried about me and . . . I just . . . I didn’t want to ruin it.”   
  
“What are you talking about, _you didn’t want to ruin it_?” Peeta asks, but he doesn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he shakes his head. “I think – and I’m speaking for myself here, so feel free to get a second opinion – that I’m a little bit easier to get along with than you think I am. I’m not sitting around waiting for an excuse to get angry, or whatever you think I’m doing. And you have absolutely no reason to know that, which I’ve sort of forgotten. I mean, what do you know about me? Practically nothing, so, I guess I’m just saying that I get it. I don’t _like_ it, not necessarily, but I understand it.”   
  
“That’s not true,” she says. “I know you have two brothers. And work at a bakery and have a bionic leg.”   
  
He sort of laughs. “Yeah, sure, but does any of that really matter? You haven’t even seen me in bad traffic yet. Or met my friends. Or seen how much of a jerk I can be when people talk during movies. And this is probably a terrible thing I’m doing here, reminding you of all of these reasons not to trust me. I’m going to go ahead and shut up now.”    
  
 It’s quiet for a long moment. She watches him, trying to figure him out.   
  
“What it comes down to is, luckily, I’m not your father,” he says.   
  
“You’re my _husband_ ,” she says.   
  
“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. I’m not going to yell at you or lecture you or anything like that.”   
  
Clearly, the fact that he’s her _husband_ means something else to him. She shakes her head. “I guess . . . I just thought if I could get a letter to my sister, if I could make sure she knew I was okay here. Or that I was going to be okay, at least . . .”  
  
Her bottom lip trembles. Peeta moves a little bit closer to her.   
  
“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Peeta says, his voice infuriatingly soft. “I didn’t mean for you to cry. I just wanted to talk.”   
  
“I’m not very good at talking,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “Sorry.”   
  
“That’s not true,” he tells her. She shoots him a look, but he seems convinced. “I, for one, had a great time on the way out here. And you can’t convince me it had anything to do with anything other than our conversation, so don’t even try.”   
  
She finally looks over at him. He’s watching her intently. She still can’t figure out why he’s the one that’s sorry. “My sister . . .”   
  
“You really don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Peeta says. “I mean, I’d love to hear what you were saying, but only if you actually want me to know.”  
  
She thinks about it for a moment. The words come out anyway. Maybe because of how sorry she is about the way this went. “It’s just . . . I want her to know about you. Seems fair, since she didn’t find out I signed up until they came to get me.”  
  
She can tell he’s trying not to seem too surprised. His eyebrows are a little bit higher than usual. “Is that so?”   
  
She nods guiltily. “I should have told her. It’s just . . . Like I said, I didn’t think I’d be ordered. So it seemed silly to worry her over nothing.”   
  
“No wonder you wanted to write her,” he says. “I mean, in addition to her being your sister and all.”   
  
“She probably hates me.”   
  
“Pretty sure that’s impossible,” Peeta says.   
  
“You didn’t see the way she cried when the Peacekeepers came to get me. Begged, even, saying I couldn’t go. It was pretty unforgivable, what I did to her.”   
  
“You’re her _sister_ ,” he says. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”   
  
She nods, trying to let him believe that she thinks it’ll be that simple.   
  
“You two are close, right?” he asks.   
  
_Were. Were_ close. She resists the urge to correct him. “Very.”   
  
“She’ll understand,” he says, full of conviction. “But, I do have one question. If you don’t mind.”   
  
“No, I don’t,” Katniss says. “What?”   
  
“You’ve said this a couple of times, now, I think. Is there a reason you _wouldn’t_ be okay here with me, Katniss?”   
  
She hesitates. “Just, um, you know. If you were mean. Or loud. Or strange. Or . . . I don’t know, purple, or something. Any of the other things you aren’t.”   
  
“Did you have a reason to believe I would be loud and purple and strange?” Peeta asks, and he laughs, but she can’t return it. She’s far too stiff, trying not to let anything show. “Oh. Well, I mean, I guess I understand. It’s like I was saying earlier, about having no reason to trust me. Forget I said anything.”   
  
“No,” she says. “You’re not, though. So don’t . . . please don’t be offended. But Prim doesn’t know that, so that’s why I think the letter will help.”   
  
“I’m not offended,” Peeta says, lying back to look at the clouds. She actually believes him.

  
  
It’s quiet for a long moment. She’s not sure what to say. Luckily, he breaks the silence.    
  
“You know, I brought some paper. Did you want to go ahead and get started on that letter?”   
  
She sits up, staring at him. “Really?”   
  
“Yeah, sure. It’s unlined. Will that work?”   
  
She nods eagerly, and he grins at her. She stays at the lake, readjusting their blanket and laying down on it, stomach down this time. He’s back pretty quickly, dropping a book of thick, unlined paper in front of her, along with a few different pens and pencils.   
  
“Any of this work for you?” he asks.   
  
“Yes. Yes. All of it. Thank you,” she says, and she’s sitting up and starting on her letter by the time he’s even settled in beside her.   
  
  
He has a book of his own in his lap. She thinks it’s the same one he was drawing in yesterday. She doesn’t care too much, though. She has a letter to write. There are a few things that trip her up in the process. The first part, for instance, the apology, takes up half a page by itself.   
  
**_My husband’s name is Peeta. Peeta is_** , she begins, but comes up short. She has to glance over at him, trying to come up with an accurate word. ****_Peeta is blonde. And he has blue eyes, like a merchant. His father was one, in District Twelve. The baker’s son. So that makes Peeta the baker’s grandson. His father has a bakery here. Peeta works there. I will too, I guess. Soon._  
  
It doesn’t seem like the right way to explain him, though. So she thinks about it for another couple of seconds and tries again.   


**_He brought me to the woods. He calls it a state park. They’re a lot like my woods, outside of District Twelve. He also bought me a lot of clothes. Nice clothes. And he wants to get me a bow. Wants me to hunt, I think. You would probably like him a lot.  
  
_** She glances over at him, but he’s not reading over her shoulder. She’s impressed at his restraint. She would probably try to read it if she was in his position.   
  
**_He’s not like I expected. He doesn’t even sound like he’s from here. Not completely. His father’s accent sounds completely like home, even with all the years he’s spent here. Peeta got a little bit of it. Not all of it, but enough to not sound silly. Not like his mother.  
His brother ordered a wife, too. Scarlett. She’s from District Two. She was a career, but she’s very nice. So are Peeta’s brothers. I am trying to teach Peeta how to swim. He never learned how. There’s a huge lake here, and I want to come back, so I hope he learns quickly.   
  
_** She reaches the end of the back of page and glances over at Peeta. He’s working on his drawing, so he doesn’t even really seem to notice her until she clears her throat.  
  
“Can I . . .?” she asks, nodding towards the pad.   
  
“More? Yeah, of course. As many pages as you’d like. We’ll get you some good, lined, letter writing paper when we get home. Sound good?”   
  
She nods. “Thank you.”   
  
“Of course. Tell her I say hi.”   
  
She does, right away. It’s the start of the second page. She fills the second one about as easily, talking about teaching Peeta how to swim and about Scarlett and Rye. She also tells Prim about the train ride. About all the colors here, the stores, and somehow, more about Peeta.   
****__  
“What are you working on?” she asks when she pauses to figure out what else she wants to say.  
  
“Oh, drawing,” Peeta answers, sort of turning his book towards her. It’s very rough, right now, but she’s fairly certain it’s a portrait. “Probably should have asked first.”   
  
“To draw?” she asks, but then it becomes clear. She thinks it’s her, judging by the way the profile is angled down. Maybe because of the way her head was bent while she worked on the letter. “Oh. No, um, that’s fine.”   
  
“I think it’s going to look a little better when it’s finished. More like you. At least, I hope it will.”   
  
“Do I need to pose?” she asks. “Take my hair down or . . . I don’t know. Make a face.”   
  
He laughs. “No, no, what you were doing before was perfect. Pretend I’m not here.”    
  
  
  
Once she’s finished with her letter, she stretches out and lies back again.   
  
“You didn’t need me sitting like that, did you?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.   
  
“No. I got what I needed. Thank you.”   
  
She nods. “I was thinking of getting back in the water . . .”   
  
“That’s fine with me,” Peeta says. “I just want to finish some of this shading. I’d love to learn some more, if you’d still be willing to teach me.”   
  
“I’d be willing. I want you to learn some strokes today, though. Are you feeling up for it?”   
  
He pretends to consider this for a moment, and then slams his book closed dramatically, tossing it off to the side and standing up. “Am I feeling up for it? With a teacher like you, I’d have to be an idiot to say no, wouldn’t I?”  
  


Despite the rocky start, the rest of the day ends up being pretty good. Peeta manages little more than floating on his back and marveling at the way Katniss can swim, but she doesn’t actually mind very much.   
  
“I wrote you a letter,” Peeta says, and she’s pretty sure it’s to distract her from the fact that he’s not putting his head underwater like she asked him to.   
  
This catches her attention. “What?”   
  
“Well, you know, I saw you in the catalogue,” he says, swinging his hand under the water and looking down at it. “And I, of course, was a goner. But I wasn’t ready to place an order. Not yet. I had all these personal things I had to work through, but I wrote you this letter. Sealed it and everything, and I brought it down to the office.”

“I didn’t get it,” Katniss says.   
  
“Oh, I know,” Peeta says. “They laughed at me when I told them it was for you, though. Called me Loverboy and told me to get out if I wasn’t going to place an order.”   
  
“I want to read it,” she declares, and he smiles.   
  
“They wouldn’t give it back. And, of course, they wouldn’t give me your address. Otherwise I probably would have given it to you by now. It was weird, anyway. Like, _you don’t know me but my name is Peeta and I’m thinking of ordering you._ I wanted to know you, first. You know? Like . .  . I don’t know, like internet dating or something,” he sort of laughs. “I actually had managed to forget about it. It seems a little pathetic.”   
  
“No,” she says. She can’t decide if she would have preferred it that way or not. It would have been better, if she would have been able to make sure that he wasn’t terrible. But on the other hand, it would have been worse if Peeta _was_ as bad as she expected him to be. Or if he had pretended to be another kind of person in the letters than he was in real life.   
  
“It just felt unfair, you know. Me knowing more about you than you knew about me. Like, I _could_ have been mean and purple and loud and whatever the other one was for all you knew.”   
  
“Strange,” she supplies, and he laughs. “But I can see how that would be better. At least you would be sure. You’d know what you were going into. Know that I wasn’t terrible.”   
  
“I wasn’t particularly concerned that you’d be terrible, Katniss.”   
  
“Okay. Then, there’s my question. Why not?”   
  
He shrugs. “They have studies, you know.”   
  
_Studies_. She laughs before she can help herself.   
  
“No, really. It’s some psychological thing. Like, first attraction is somehow related to . . . I don’t know. The things that make a lasting relationship work. I mean, there’s got to be some reason you look at someone and stop long enough to look twice, right?”   
  
She narrows her eyes at him. “And you buy that?”   
  
“Well, I mean, I did end up ordering you. So you can probably go ahead and draw your own conclusions,” Peeta says. “Head underwater, you said?”   
  
She nods, but then thinks better of it and plunges down into the water. He’s amazed when she emerges, and she sort of laughs. “What?”

“You didn’t even hold your nose.”   
  
“Yeah,” she says. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll understand if you need to. Takes a little practice.”   
  
“Sounds a little like a challenge to me,” Peeta says, and she tries to stop him before he drops into the water, but she can’t. He comes up, sputtering, and she can’t help but to put her hand on his back, trying to help.   
  
“You okay?” she asks, coming around in front of him.   
  
He nods. “Warn a guy next time.”   
  
She gapes at him, cups her hand, and sends as much water his way as possible. She’s rewarded with a full, deep laugh from Peeta. And another splash of water, returned more quickly than she would have thought possible.   
  
“Hey!” she says, laughing. They spent too much time like this. Exchanging splashes and laughs. She thinks that maybe they should have come out to the water in the first place. Worked things out like this.   
  
She ducks out of his way a few times. Dives under and surprises him from a different angle or from behind. He’s an exceedingly good sport about all of it, and surprisingly, an even better competitor. There’s no real way to determine who wins. They’re both pretty thoroughly drenched by the time they’re finished.   
  
They stay out until the sun begins to set. She doesn’t think they’ve made much progress, but when he asks her how he did, she tells him he did well.   
  
  
They eat more hot dogs, but after that, he makes her something new. She’s not sure what he’s doing when he starts to roast a _marshmallow_ , but after he’s sandwiched it with crackers and, of all things, chocolate, he hands it to her.   
  
“S’mores,” he says, noticing her hesitance. “They’re the best part of camping.”   
  
She’ll admit, they’re pretty good. But her favorite part, after the awkwardness of trying to settle into the sleeping bag and pretending like nothing happened this afternoon, is how she has the best sleep since she’s arrived in the Capitol, wrapped up securely with him. They sleep a lot like the way she woke up last night, only they don’t pretend that they have to be asleep to be comfortable in the sleeping bag together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this make up for my absence? I hope?   
> Endless love and gratitude, as always, to Bethanie and Ash for their beta reading expertise and help. And endless love and gratitude to you, as well, for reading, and for everyone who has left reviews. You guys keep me going. :)


	9. Chapter 9

They get back to the apartment in the afternoon. She wonders if Peeta would have let her stay a little longer if she had asked, if she could have spent another couple of hours in the lake before they had to leave. He didn’t rush her out, exactly, but she was hungry enough to want to get going.

He doesn’t have to lead her by the hand, exactly, but she doesn’t know how to reach his part of the apartment, so she’s grateful that he walks ever so slightly in front of her.

He insists that she take the first shower, and she argues until she realizes how pointless it is. He’s determined, and she honestly doesn’t want to fight with him today. She offers to help with the laundry, as a last effort to accomplish something before she gets in the shower, and he takes her bag, sliding the straps off of her shoulder and setting it down beside the washing machine.   
She can’t help but to think of Hazelle Hawthorne, who could have her whole work replaced with something like this.   
  
“No, I’ve got it. You okay?” Peeta asks.   
  
She nods. “Just . . . this sort of thingwould take a lot longer in Twelve, is all. And you’d get rough hands.”   
  
He sort of stretches his fingers out, examining his hands. “No wonder you think this is so weird. Do me a favor, come over here,”   
  
She’s happy to oblige. He’s clearly slowing himself down in order to allow her to help, but it’s sort of sweet. He had just been talking about this kind of thing in the car, when he was telling her how he started working in the bakery. She helps him to load it and then he talks her through how to turn the machine on. She heads for the shower afterwards, giving him a small smile on her way out of the room.

 

She knows how to do laundry, now. She wonders if, possibly, he’s shown her this because he expects her to start doing it by herself. She wouldn’t mind that, exactly. She’d love to have some work here. Peeta really hasn’t asked _anything_ of her since she got here.   
All of her comfortable pants are in the wash, so she pulls a pair of jeans on with a tank top that he bought her.   
His arm is across the back of the couch, and the television is on. She watches over his shoulder for a moment and then comes around to sit on the couch beside him. He tenses. She stares at the screen, embarrassed to have scared him again.   
  
“I should make you start wearing a bell,” Peeta says.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Katniss says.   
  
His arm dips a little lower, but only to wrap around her shoulders and give her a quick squeeze that she’s sure is meant to be comforting. “I was kidding.  I’m not actually bothered by it. It’s just something to get used to.”

 _Something to get used to_. She hasn’t really thought about how much adjusting Peeta has to do with this whole thing.   
  
“I mean, I didn’t know it was humanly possible to walk that quietly,” he continues explaining, and she can tell he feels genuinely bad about the joke he made.   
  
“Um, hunting,” she explains after a moment. Honesty seems like the best answer here. “You have to walk quietly in the woods, or else you’ll scare all the game away.”   
  
“I’d be terrible at it,” Peeta says. “I’ve always had footsteps like an elephant. Even before.”   
  
_Before_. It isn’t hard to figure out what he means. “Could probably learn how to shoot, though,” she says. “At a target or a tree or something.”   
  
He smiles at her. She wonders if he thinks she’s offering to teach him. It wouldn’t be bad at all, probably, teaching Peeta to use a bow. It would practically guarantee he made good on his promise to get her the equipment, and it would give her an excuse to get her hands on a bow again.   
  
“Okay. Um, I’m finished in the shower, if you wanted in.”   
  
Peeta smiles at her,andhands over remote before he gets up. “Here, find us something to watch.”   
  
She stares at it helplessly and he hits a button to pull up a guide. She reads a few titles, tries to figure out what looks good. It just so happens that nothing does, notreally. She stays on the channel Peeta had been watching. The program he’s been watching is almost over, anyway. Maybe she’ll like whatever it is coming up next.   
  
She doesn’t. Peeta does, though. It might possibly be the most excited she’s seen him since she arrived.   
  
“Oh man! I haven’t seen this show in _ages_! How did you find it?”   
  
She shrugs. Peeta comes and sits down beside her, grinning, and she kind of can’t help but to smile back. They watch in silence for a while before she gives up.   
  
“I don’t understand,” she admits.   
  
“Understand what?” Peeta asks. “The show?”   
  
She nods.   
  
“Well, this is like, season four, so don’t feel bad,” he says, grinning. That said, he’s more than happy to explain the basics of the show to her. He explains which characters he wants to have end up together and the sort of goals the characters have. Once she understands this, he starts to go a little bit deeper.   
  
“Okay, okay, you see her? The blonde one?”   
  
She nods.   
  
He delves into the back story now. About childhoods and past episodes. He’s even able to rattle off other movies and shows that some of the actors have been in, and he’s sure to tell her which ones are worth watching and which ones aren’t. It’s not that Peeta was grumpy the other days, but he’s in a particularly good mood today. It takes a little bit of work for her to keep up with everything he’s saying, but she’s okay with that. It’s worth it just to see him so excited about something.   
  
It takes a lot of catching up, but by the time the second episode starts to play, she’s able to follow, at least a little bit.

She actually sort of laughs at one of the jokes. She thinks he’s never looked prouder.   
  
This is the first time since she’s been here that neither of them have had anything they had to do. Maybe even the first day that’s she’s never had _something_ to do, other than on the train. That made her feel anxious, having nothing to do except for worry about who she would end up with. This, with Peeta, is so completely different. She’s actually able to relax against the back of the couch, and doesn’t want to get up and pace around, like she spent so much time doing on the way here.

  
She wonders if this is what it’s usually like when he has a day off. Ever since his comment about adjusting, she can’t help but to wonder what his life was like before she got here. He doesn’t seem to mind this, just sitting and watching his show. He does get up to get the comforter, but he’s pretty stationary once that’s been spread over the two of them. She’s tired, but refuses to let herself sleep. If she’s going to adjust to things here, the time zone should be the first one. Peeta claims that it’s normal, her feeling so jetlagged, but she knows that he can’t want her sleeping all the time. He doesn’t seem to be much of a sleeper, himself.    


He had woken up before she did thatmorning, and she only really knew because of how quickly her eyes met his when they opened. She had looked back down, studying her hands and the way they were practically pressed up against his chest, they were lying so closely together. She didn’t want to move another inch, because moving meant admitting she was awake, and admitting that she was awake meant packing their things up and heading for Peeta’s apartment, and while she wasn’t exactly dreading it, she wasn’t quite ready for it, either.   
But then, strangest thing, she felt Peeta playing with her hair. He was incredibly gentle, just barely running his fingers through the ends of her hair, and she couldn’t exactly tell if he was trying to wake her up or not, but he was definitely playing with her hair, and she couldn’t help but to look up at him. She earned herself a grin by making more eye contact.   
  
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Peeta said. She pretended that this wasn’t the first time she had heard that since her father died. “You get enough sleep?”   
  
“I thought we were supposed to wake each other up,” she said.   
  
He laughed. “No, no, I said _you_ should have woken _me_ up. I keep baker’s hours, you know. It would be unfair of me to hold you to that. Though, now that I think of it, you’ve kept up admirably these last few days. What’s that about?”   
  
_Hunting_ , she thought. _And trading. And picking up extra shifts at the mines_. “I always had plenty to do.”   
  
  
“So, are you particularly against fast food twice in one day?” Peeta asks, interrupting her thoughts.   
  
She looks over at him. “Why? Are we going somewhere?”   
  
“Just the opposite, actually. I was thinking about ordering a pizza. I sort of don’t want to get up until it’s absolutely necessary.”   
  
“You’re tired?” Katniss asks, hopeful.   
  
“Lazy is probably a better word,” he says, grinning. “Why? Are you tired?”   
  
She shakes her head. “That sounds good, though. Dinner, I mean. If it’s anything like what we had this morning, then I’ll probably like it.”   
  
“No pizza in District Twelve,” he says lowly, more to himself than to her. “It’s not exactly the same thing. I mean, . . . yeah, not really. You’ll probably like it, though. I’m getting good at this sort of thing.”   
  
She gives him a smile in acknowledgement of what he just said. She’s still not sure she likes the show, but she’s not going to tell him that.   


In the morning, after she had admitted that she had wondered about what they were doing for breakfast, he laughed and called her _a woman after his own heart_.   
He had asked her if hamburgers were okay, and when she admitted that she wasn’t sure, he assured her that they could find something else if she ended up hating it, but that there was this great little place not too far from the campgrounds that he’d love to bring her to. She agreed, and that was pretty much all he said about it. She could tell, though, how excited he was. It was possibly the most excited he’s been since they got here. He kept grinning, first while they packed their things up, and then in the car on the way to the restaurant.   
  
“What is it?” she asked when they pulled into the parking lot, and he had grinned.   
  
“This is, and I’m being careful not to oversell it, quite possibly the best food the Capitol has to offer,” he said. “And one of the best kept secrets. _And_ a Mellark family tradition to boot.”   
  
A Mellark family tradition. It took her a moment too long to realize why he would want to include her in it.    
  
  
“So, wait,” she says, turning her attention back to the screen. “We’re rooting for her, right?”

“I mean, you can. She’s one of my least favorite characters in anything ever, but to each their own, right?” he asks.   
  
“Why?” she asks.

This is all it takes to get him going again.                                                                                        

  


They eat on the couch, off of little paper plates. The slice he gives her is much plainer than the one from the other box, and he notices her eyeing the piece he’s about to bite into.   
  
“Do you want to try it?” he asks, holding it out towards her. “I didn’t mean anything by it, getting you the cheese. I just figured, you know, what with it being your first pizza and all, it’s better to start off small.”   
  
She takes it, considers it for a moment, and then bites the tip off. He’s watching her, just like he had at breakfast that morning. Waiting, clearly, for some sign of approval. She wonders if he must think that she’s picky. He must, considering how concerned he is about what he’s feeding her.   
  
“It’s good,” she says, holding a hand in front of her mouth because it’s sort of full. Her mother would be shaking her head at her right now, but Peeta doesn’t mind. He laughs, actually.   
  
“I’m not getting that back, am I?” he asks, and she shakes her head. He grins and gets himself another piece.  She sort of likes the fact that it’s so simple.

  
After they’ve finished eating and she’s watched and tried to be helpful while he put the pizza boxes into the icebox, she tries to pull her legs up onto the couch, but there’s less space between them than she thought and her feet end up pressed right against his leg. As if he doesn’t even have to think about it, Peeta reaches over, scoops her feet up, and drops them in his lap. There’s plenty of room for her to stretch out, now.   
It takes a moment for Peeta turn and look at her, as if he’s suddenly not sure whether or not what he’s done was okay. She wiggles her toes at him and he grins.   
  
“Um, thanks,” she says. “This is a lot more comfortable.”   
  
“Husbandly duties,” he answers, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. She can’t help but to wonder if maybe it is. “You know,” he starts to explain. “What’s mine is yours. That would, I assume, include my lap.”   
  
She doesn’t remember reading that clause in the paperwork she signed. “And pizza, I guess.”   
  
“Oh, absolutely,” Peeta agrees, and his hands come to rest on her feet over the blanket. She thinks it’s probably more to do with the fact that that was where his hands were before and not about where her feet are. “Pizza, fries, cinnamon rolls, s’mores, cereal, anything you like.”   
  
It’s quiet for a minute. He laughs.   
  
“I only just realized how much junk food I’ve managed to feed you since you’ve been here. We’ll have fruit in the morning, and I’ll make bread and eggs. Get you some good food.”   
  
“It’s _been_ good,” she says, and it isn’t even a lie. “All of the food. It’s all been good.”   
  


The bed feels massive. She knew when they settled in that it would be nothing like sleeping in the tent, but this is almost miserable.First of all, she’s turned away from him, but away from Peeta means facing the window, and she’s convinced that no matter how tightly Peeta draws the blinds, she’s always going to be able to see the lights from the cars passing by.

The noise is ridiculous, too. He’s playing her CD again, but she can hear horns honking over it. She wonders if maybe she could figure out how to turn it up, but she’s pretty sure that Peeta would wake up if there was any more noise in the room, and besides, she doesn’t know if she could fall asleep if the music was much louder.   
  
It’s not particularly easy to fall asleep, but she manages. It doesn’t matter, though, because Peeta’s phone starts ringing what feels like seconds after she’s managed to fall asleep. She groans into her pillow, and it must be a little bit louder than she intends, because Peeta laughs, all the way over on his side of the bed.   
  
“My thoughts exactly,” he says. The phone keeps ringing and he sighs. “Should probably get that, though. It’s awfully late.”   
  
She props herself up, watching as he crosses the room to answer the phone. He keeps it all the way across the room, on the dresser. She wishes he had just turned it off. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing when he answers it.

Somehow, she’s migrated to his side of the bed by the time he’s finished telling whoever it is on the other side that they have the wrong number. He looks pretty amused when he comes back, but he climbs into the other side of the bed without a single complaint.   
  
“Who was it?” she asks, incredibly curious.   
  
“No idea. They were drinking, though, and looking for someone I’ve never met,” he says.   
  
“What time is it?”   
  
“Not long past two,” he answers.   
  
“Rude,” she says.   
  
He laughs. “It happens. Can I have my pillow?”   
  
She considers this for a moment and then shakes her head, mostly just to see what his reaction will be. She’s facing away from him again, and to her surprise – and okay, maybe relief – Peeta solves the problem by moving closely enough to her that his head rests on the edge of the pillow, chin practically pressed into the back of her head. She laughs, and so does he.

“Much better,” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I was starting to think we’d have to move to the woods in order to get a decent night’s sleep.”   
  
She presses back against him a little bit more. That wouldn’t be so bad, really, moving to the woods. She doesn’t tell him that, though, just makes a vague noise of agreement.

 

The next time she wakes up is when he gets up and moving around in the morning. She starts to sit up, but he informs her that he just needs to run to the store and that she can stay if she wants, and the bed feels so nice that she opts to stay, even though she had thought that she was going to actually try to adjust to things here.

He’s back and moving around in the kitchen before she wakes up, and the bedroom is a little bit uncomfortable in general, but that’s magnified when he’s not there to help her fill it up. She thinks about Prim when she brushes her teeth, wondering when the letter will get to District Twelve. She imagines how surprised Prim will be, angry or not, to see a letter with Katniss’ name on it.   
There are two big paper bags on the counter, and she can’t help but to clear her throat.   
  
“What is all this?” she asks, setting it down on the table.   
  
“Fruit,” he answers. “And, I mean, some other healthy things, but mostly fruit. I didn’t want my wife getting the wrong idea about the kind of nutrition I intend on providing her.”   
  
_My wife_. The words linger even with everything else he said afterwards. She has no idea how it is that she’s supposed to respond to that. “Did you get strawberries?” she asks instead, sort of shy.   
  
He grins, pulling a clear container out of one of the bags. “I got a _ton_ of strawberries.”   
  
It comes out, then. A lot of it does, at least. She stands beside him while he cuts the tops of the strawberries off, and suddenly she’s telling him more than she wants to much more quickly than she wants to.   
He doesn’t stop, but she can tell that he’s listening as everything comes out about gathering strawberries with Gale for the Mayor.   
  
“Not everyone would trade with us. Too risky, since we weren’t licensed and they could have gotten in trouble, too. But my father, he taught me plenty. Squirrels for the baker. The butcher would even buy our game, occasionally. But Mayor Undersee, he and his daughter, they could always be counted on to buy strawberries when they were in season. So, Gale – my hunting partner – and I, we always made sure that we gathered them first thing.”   
  
“The same kind?” Peeta asks, passing one over. She reserves judgment until she’s bitten into it, but they are the same, and she laughs, irrationally happy about this.   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, the same kind,” she says. “Just like this.”   
   
He eats one, too, and sort of glances over at her. “We used to eat them with sugar,” he admits. “Not always. Mostly when my mother wasn’t around.”   
  
“Sugar?” she asks, not quite able to believe it. “No. That’s crazy.”   
  
He laughs. “We were kids. And let’s be honest, sugar goes on everything.”   
  
“I don’t think it does,” she argues, and he laughs.

It’s a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless gratitude, as always, to my lovely amazing and talented betas, Bethanie (gentlemama) and Ashleigh (modernlifeofash) 
> 
> Also I could probably mention that I'm on tumblr as arollercoasterthatonlygoesup.


	10. Chapter 10

She’s a little bit confused when Peeta says that the phone is for her, but she knows better than to get her hopes up. Peeta holds the phone away from his mouth and speaks quietly. “It’s my friend Finnick. I can tell him you’re not available.”  
  
She shakes her head, but she can’t help but to smile at the offer. “No, I’ll take it. Thank you.”  
  
He nods and hands it over. It takes her a moment to answer.  
  
“Hello?” she asks. “Peeta said you wanted to talk to me?”  
  
“The elusive missus!” the voice says, clearly delighted. “You know, my wife and I were trying to figure out whether or not you actually existed. Peeta has kept you under wraps these last few days.”  
  
“Missus?” she repeats. From where he’s busying himself with the dishes, Peeta tries and fails to stifle a laugh.  
  
“As in, you know, Mrs. Mellark,” his friend explains. “Anyway, I’m a friend of Peeta’s. Finnick Odair, and I’m calling to invite you and Peeta over for dinner this evening.”  
  
“What did he say?” she asks, not wanting to undermine him.  
  
“I didn’t ask him. I’m asking you,” Finnick says. “We’d love to have you two over, but we understand if you say no. Just let me know, okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” she says. “Um, I’ll talk to Peeta and he’ll get back to you.”  
  
Finnick doesn’t ask to talk to Peeta, just says goodbye. Peeta doesn’t mind, though. Just sort of glances up at her when she sets the phone down on the counter beside him.  
  
“We got another dinner invitation,” she says.  
  
“You don’t feel like you have to say yes, do you?” he asks.  
  
She can’t help but to feel the way she did that first full day, when his brothers invited them to go to dinner and he tried to convince her not to go. Is there a _reason_ he doesn’t want his friends to meet her? And for that matter, are his friends going to be the same way as his family? “It sounded like they really wanted to meet me.”  
  
“Of course they do,” Peeta says, as if she’s missed something obvious. “And I want you to meet them. I do. I want so badly to show you off. It’s just that I understand how _much_ all of this is for you to try to cope with. I’m trying to make it as easy as possible because –”  
  
“You think I’m going to lose it if I meet a couple of your friends?” Katniss guesses, and Peeta laughs, looking more than a little bit embarrassed.  
  
“Something along those lines. It does sound sort of silly when you put it that way, though.”  
  
“Finnick seemed nice.”  
  
“He is nice,” Peeta says.  
  
“Do they have warnings?” she asks. “You know, like your brothers did.”  
  
He laughs. “No, none come to mind. Do you want to go?”  
  
“Yeah, I’d like to go,” Katniss says, and Peeta grins.  
  
  
She takes a shower and spends more time than she probably ever has trying to figure out what to wear. In terms of niceness, the dress that she came here would probably make the best impression, but she doesn’t really want to put that back on. She settles, instead, on a pair of light jeans and a yellow blouse that Peeta had liked, one that’s mostly like a tank top other than the material and the way it has ruffles going down the front.  
  
The problem is her hair. She has no idea what to do with it.  
Well, the real problem is actually the fact that Peeta said that he wants to _show her off_ and that she thinks that the least she can do is to give him something to work with.  
So she works her hair as dry as she can with the towel and then pulls it into a braid. There. Now she looks like herself. If, of course, you can look past the expensive clothes.  
  
Peeta smiles at her when she comes out, which convinces her that she made the right choice in terms of what to wear. “You look lovely,” he informs her.  
  
“I shouldn’t have left my hair down, then?” she asks, lifting her braid up.  
  
He laughs. “Well, I’m not the best for fashion advice, but like I said, I think you look great.”  
  
“When do we leave?”  
  
“I was actually just about to say something about that,” he says. “It’s not a _terrible_ drive. I mean, it’s quite a bit of a drive out to their place – they live out on the beach – but it won’t be worse than, say, going to the campground. It’s just the other direction.”  
  
She feels her eyes widen. “There’s . . . you have a _beach_ here?”  
  
She had never thought about it, really. Thought that District Four had all of the ocean when she was little and didn’t think about it too much more when she was older.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I probably would have brought you there if I knew how much you loved to swim. Have you ever been?”  
  
She shakes her head. “I saw the ocean from the train, in District Four. Wanted to see more.”  
  
“You’ll love Finnick and Annie’s place, then. Shall we?” he asks, offering her his arm.  
  
  
The car ride is easy. Yesterday, Peeta been pretty stunned about everything she told him about District Twelve, and today, she almost can’t help herself but to keep going.  
They exchange stories for most of the way. He tells her about what it was like to grow up in the bakery and in exchange she tells him precious pieces of information about District Twelve. Things she didn’t even really intended on letting him know. Telling him about the mines is hard, because she has to remember exactly how horrible it was.  
His brothers, it seems, have always teased him about as much as she’s seen. Maybe that would explain why he deals with it so well. Either way, when he told her about them trying to convince him he was adopted, she can’t quite believe it.   
  
“You look just like them,” she says, amazed at how close he claims he came to believing them. “ _Just_ like them. How did you . . .?”  
  
“I know,” he says, laughing. “They said that was why they picked me. They thought I would fit in.”  
  
She laughs with him.   
  
“Did you and . . . Prim? Play jokes on each other like that?”  
  
“Yeah, her name is Prim. But we didn’t.”  
  
“Girls are different, I guess,” Peeta says, glancing over at her.  
  
 _District Twelve is different_ , she thinks, but doesn’t say. “Yeah, I guess. Did you want a sister?”  
  
He thinks about this for a second. “Well, I’m pretty sure I always knew how badly my father wanted a girl. So, you know, any desire to have a sister probably came from that.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“What about you? Did you want a brother? Or just more siblings in general, I guess?”  
  
She shakes her head, so fast that Peeta looks amused. “No. Prim was enough. She was . . . a handful.”  
  
That wasn’t exactly the right way to put it, but she isn’t ready to explain about her father quite yet, and to be honest, she can’t imagine being any time soon. He accepts her answer, though.  
  
“Well, as you know, I’m the baby, so I wouldn’t know anything about that.”  
  
She’s ready to change the subject, so she sits forward a little bit. “Tell me about your friends. Finnick and Annie, right? Are they a couple?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he says. “They’re married. They’re a lot like us, but sort of backwards. Which is to say that Finnick is originally from District Four, and Annie is from here.”  
  
“So, that’s why they live near the ocean?”  
  
“Actually, no, it didn’t have anything to do with Finnick. Annie’s family used to be really into fishing. They had a boat and everything. It just happened to be a lucky coincidence when she ordered Finnick that he loved the ocean.”  
  
“Who did you know first?”  
  
“Oh, I’ve known Annie practically forever. Feels that way with Finnick too, though. He’s the outdoorsman I was saying you would like.”  


 

Finnick Odair is a tall, bronze haired man that seems thrilled to see them. “Hey! Wow, Peeta. You didn’t tell me that she looked like she does in the picture.”  
  
“That wasn’t a given?” Katniss asks, more to Peeta, and both of the guys laugh.  
  
“Finnick Odair,” he announces, holding his hand out for her to shake. “We talked earlier, on the phone.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” she says.  
  
“Annie!” he calls, heading into the house. “Our guests are here!”  
  
Annie comes out of the dining room and immediately hugs Katniss. She pretends like it isn’t uncomfortable. Peeta gets the same treatment, which, if nothing else, makes Katniss feel surprisingly accepted right off the bat.  
  
“Oh, I’m so glad you could come! We’ve been dying to meet you, you know.”  
  
“Peeta has kept you to himself admirably,” Finnick says. “We weren’t even sure if you really existed.”  
  
“I do,” Katniss says, as if that wasn’t already obvious.  
  
“Annie took Finnick out on the town practically as soon as the train arrived,” Peeta explains.  
  
“Well, with a face like this, people _certainly_ would have thought she was making me up,” Finnick says.  
  
“Right. Because, really, who would be kind enough to take on such a charity case?” Annie teases, stretching up on her tiptoes and squeezing her husband’s face to prove her point. To smooth things over, though, she gives him a quick kiss. They’re both pretty nonchalant about it, and it makes Katniss ever so slightly uncomfortable. How long will it be until Peeta comes to expect this sort of thing from her?  
  
“Is there anything I can help with?” Katniss asks.  
  
“Oh, no, of course not,” Annie says. “Finnick has it pretty much finished. He has some garlic bread in the oven, so once that’s finished, we’re set.And even if it wasn’t, there is _no way_ we would ask you to help in the kitchen.”  
  
“It’s true,” Peeta says. “This is the only house I know better than to offer to bring dessert to.”  
  
“That’s a big deal for Peeta,” Annie adds. “He never likes to come to a house empty handed. We have it covered, though.”  
  
  
They stand in silence for a moment, and then Annie claps her hands, as if she’s getting an idea. “Can I borrow you for just a minute, Katniss?”  She leads her through the house, first showing her a glimpse out the window at the beach that the house is practically backed up against. It’s just almost too dark to see it, but the ocean stretches out seemingly forever. She can’t help herself but to stare. “I know. It’s pretty gorgeous,” Annie agrees. They continue to the bedroom that she and Finnick undoubtedly share, and picks up a bag from the bed, smiling sheepishly when she presents it to her. “We heard that your bag got lost in Six, so I put this together for you. Figured maybe it would be better to not do this in front of Peeta, just in case.”  
  
Katniss sorts through the bag, a little bit confused. She doesn’t understand Annie’s hesitance until she realizes what the parcel contains. Her cheeks are burning by the time she reads the words _sanitary napkins_ on one of the pink packages.  
“I have completely crossed the line, haven’t I?” Annie asks. “I just thought, you know, maybe it would be easier coming from me than it would from Peeta.”  
  
“No, no, you didn’t,” Katniss says, not able to make eye contact. “Thank you. I didn’t even _think_ about any of this.”  
  
“Okay, okay, good,” Annie says. “And just so you know, Finnick has no clue about any of this, and neither does Peeta.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“And, lastly,” Annie says, going into the massive closet and pulling something down. “I saw you in that color and couldn’t help but to be reminded of this dress, which I’m pretty certain was made for you. Will you try it on?”  
  
She barely has time to blink before Annie tosses a yellow dress at her. “Oh, um, no, you don’t have to do that,” she tries to say, because she’s already accepted too many clothes from Peeta, and now she’s accepted way too much from Annie.  
  
“Are you kidding?” Annie says. “This hasn’t fit me in ages. Try it on. The bathroom is over here.”   
  
It’s ever so slightly too big for Katniss, but Annie claims that it just makes it look better and insists that Katniss take it.  
  
“Besides,” she calls as Katniss heads back to change into her actual outfit. “It’s a built in excuse. Peeta will ask what this was about, and you can tell him I gave you a dress. It’s not even a lie.”  
  
  
Peeta offers to take the bag to the car as soon as she and Annie resurface, and Katniss doesn’t want to risk it knocking over, so she agrees and settles in on the edge of the cushion he had been sitting on. Finnick is on the other end of the couch and Annie settles in beside him.  
  
“So, Katniss, if you don’t mind my asking, what do you think?” Finnick asks.  
  
“Of the Capitol?” she asks, wondering if she can be honest with Finnick. He’s not from here, after all. He would have no reason, really, to be defensive of the place. Maybe he even sees how strange it is. She wonders if they put the men in the career districts through classes the way that they do with the girls. If he dreamed about coming to the Capitol.  
  
“Of Peeta,” he corrects.  
  
She looks over at the door, wondering if he’s going to come in or not. “He’s nice. Um, much nicer than I expected. He took me camping.”  
  
“So we’ve heard,” Annie says. “He sent out this group text. Something along the lines of _don’t bother me, I’m meeting my wife_.”  
  
Finnick laughs. “How did that go?”  
  
“It was nice. He let me try to teach him to swim, and –”  
  
“Say that again,” Finnick says, sitting up a little bit straighter. Annie laughs.  
  
“He let me try to teach him to swim?” It comes out as a question.  
  
“Wow,” Finnick says, dragging the word out.  
  
“Finnick has been trying to convince him to get in the water for years, now.”  
  
“I teach people how to swim _for a living_ ,” he explains. “And after, what, two days? He just lets you drag him into the water?”  
  
“We didn’t get very far. I just tried to convince him to float on his back.”  
  
“I’m not saying anything bad about your teaching skills. Just the opposite. I’m impressed, frankly.”  
  
“I know you are,” Peeta says, shutting the door behind him. “She’s impressive. What did she do?”  
  
She laughs, a little uncomfortable, and moves over to make room for Peeta on the couch. Her legs are practically pressed against his. “We were talking about the camping trip. When we were swimming.”  
  
Peeta nods.  
  
“How did he do?” Finnick asks, and she knows that Peeta is waiting for an answer, too.  
  
“Good. I mean, he had a little bit of trouble relaxing, but, other than that, it was nice.”  
  
Peeta laughs. “By a little bit of trouble, she means that the entire lesson was pretty much just her trying to get me to relax.”  
  
  
She sits down beside Peeta at the table, and he makes sure to serve her a heaping pile of pasta before he even thinks about putting any on his own plate. Annie and Finnick tell Peeta about how their life has been going. The meal is surprisingly good. It just takes them a while to get to it.  
“So, Peeta was telling me that Katniss is accepting a job offer at the bakery,” Finnick says.   
  
“Good old nepotism, right?” Peeta asks with a grin. “No, it’ll be great. My father is crazy about her.”  
  
“You’ve met the family already?” Annie asks. “How did that go?”  
  
“It was fine,” Katniss says, and then cringes. “I mean, it went well. We had dinner.”  
  
“What she means to say is that it was _terrible_. Ugh. I mean, you guys know how my mom is. She started making comments about table manners and District Twelve and _savages_ and I have no idea how Katniss handled it as well as she did.”  
  
Her cheeks feel hot again. “It wasn’t as bad as he thinks. His sister-in-law is really nice.”  
  
“Clearly she doesn’t mean Astrid,” Finnick says, and Peeta laughs. It’s a little bit strange, Finnick and Annie knowing Peeta and his family so much better than she does. She can’t help but to feel maybe a little bit left out. Maybe this is what Peeta was trying to spare her from.  
  
“No. I don’t think she liked me very much,” Katniss admits. Peeta’s thumb sort of rubs the back of her hand.  
  
“Astrid doesn’t like _anyone_ other than Dylan,” Peeta says. “Well, I mean, maybe my mother.”  
  
“But that really says all you need to know,” Finnick says. “Right? I mean, anyone who likes Peeta’s mother more than they like him isn’t someone you’re going to trip over yourself to be around. At least, not in my experience.”  
  
Peeta laughs. She files away the information for later. _Not easily offended when it comes to his mother_.  
  
“Are you excited to start at the bakery?” Annie asks. “We got sort of off track, there.”  
  
“Yeah,” Katniss says. “I mean, it’ll be different from the mines in Twelve, but hopefully a little less dangerous.”  
  
She’s the only one to laugh at her joke.  
“Um, Peeta said he would teach me. So, that should be nice,” she adds.  
  
  
Annie made brownies for desert, and they’re good, but far too rich for her. Peeta offers her his, and she shakes her head.  
  
“I’m surprised she’s not sick of baked goods yet,” Annie announces. “Being married to a baker and all.”  
  
Peeta laughs.  
  
“Have you had his cinnamon rolls?” Katniss asks. “He made them for me the first morning I was here. I don’t think I could ever get tired of those.”  
  
  
They all end up on the couch again after dinner. Finnick and Annie, Katniss learns, are practically one being. They’re turned to face Katniss and Peeta, Finnick sitting with his legs crossed and Annie in the space between his legs, her back pressed against his chest and her knees pulled up.  
Katniss and Peeta are sitting on the same cushion, but it feels like they have miles between them.  
  
“Tell us about the station!” Annie demands.  
  
Katniss realizes that they’re looking at _her_ and not Peeta. She knocks Peeta’s knee with hers.  
  
He’s more than happy to take over. “I mean, it’s like a normal station story, I guess. There were a lot of people coming off. I recognized her from the picture. She looked sort of scared out of her mind. I held my sign up –”   
  
“You made a sign,” Finnick repeats, as if this is funny.  
  
“I wouldn’t have known he was there for me if he didn’t,” Katniss defends.  
  
“I think it’s romantic. I had a sign for you,” Annie reminds Finnick. “Like something out of a movie.”  
  
“You’re a _girl_ , though. Sorry, Peeta. Go on.”  
  
“I held my sign up, and we met from there.”  
  
“What’s the first thing she said to you?” Annie asks.  
  
“Um . . .” Peeta thinks about it for a second and then looks over at her. “That they lost her luggage, I think.”  
  
She nods, and then suddenly everyone is laughing.  
  
“Well, it’s original,” Finnick says.  
  
“But yeah, I mean, there weren’t any like, grand romantic gestures or anything. But none were going on there, either, so . . .”  
  
“He helped me up,” she blurts out, not liking how short he’s selling himself. He was . . . this woman knocked me over. And he had already held up the sign but then he was just, you know, there, and he picked my packet up and helped me up. I didn’t even realize it was him.”  
  
Everyone’s quiet, watching her. Even Peeta. _Especially_ Peeta.   
  
“Yeah, who _did_ you think I was?” Peeta asks, no doubt remembering the last name debacle.  
  
“I thought, you know, maybe you worked for the guy that ordered me,” she admits, too embarrassed to look at any of them. Finnick laughs, Annie tries not to, and Peeta’s hand somehow finds hers.   
  
“I thought her name was pronounced _Kahtniss_ ,” Peeta announces, and this sets both Finnick and Annie off laughing. Even Katniss sort of laughs.  
  
“Yeah, buddy, we remember,” Finnick says. “How did you find out you were wrong, anyway?”  
  
“I listened to her. She introduced herself to my brothers and my father had been saying it right all along.”  
   
“You talked to your father about me?” she asks. “And Finnick and Annie?   
  
“Katniss, I need you to listen to me. This is very important,” Finnick says. “He talked to _everyone_ about you. Everyone who would listen. Even people that wouldn’t.”  
  
“Have you ever seen him this happy?” Annie asks, craning her neck to look back at Finnick.  
  
Peeta laughs uncomfortably.  
  
“No, I mean it. Finnick, back me up on this. She’s a miracle worker,” Annie presses, and Katniss wonders if maybe the glasses of wine she had with dinner are taking effectbecause she doesn’t seem to be able to tell that this isn’t something Peeta is particularly interested in talking about. “After these last few years, it’s just nice to see him happy again.”   
  
 _These last few years._ She turns to look at him, unable to help herself. He raises his eyebrows, and she knows that this is a conversation they’re going to have another time, if at all. “She’s great. I completely agree with you on that,” Peeta says.  
  
Thankfully, the conversation moves to lighter subjects. Finnick asks if Peeta’s sleeping on the couch, and then has a story about how he slept on the couch when he first got there, and how Annie took the bed. Peeta sounds like he’s particularly happy when she says that Katniss let him in on the first night.  
  


* * *

  
She wakes to an empty bed and hears Peeta moving around in the kitchen while she’s getting ready, so she decides to see if she can make herself of use as soon as she’s finished brushing her teeth. She comes out in her pajamas. Peeta looks up when she comes in and looks a little bit guilty, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.  
  
“Hey. Can I help?”  
  
He looks a little bit surprised by the offer. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Come here.”  
  
“Okay,” she says, stopping at the sink to wash her hands first. “What are you making?”   
  
There’s that guilty look again. Well, partially guilty and partially proud. “Well, I was sort of hoping I’d be quick enough to get them in the oven before you realized, but we’re making cinnamon rolls.”  
  
She can’t help but to feel a little guilty, like Peeta thought that she was dropping hints last night. “You didn’t have to do that.”  
  
“I wanted to,” he assures her. “For a few reasons, so, first of all, I sort of want to test that theory of yours, about not getting sick of them. And also as a thank you for being so awesome. In general, but, you know, last night in specific, too. I mean, have you made a single bad impression in your life?”  
  
“So, I get cinnamon rolls for making your friends like me?” she asks, deciding to change the subject. “I could get used to that, I think.”  
  
Peeta laughs, showing her how to cut the dough. “They _loved_ you, Katniss. And I feel like you should know that I’ve already gotten two texts from Scarlett saying how upset she is that we’re working the shift before hers tomorrow, because she wanted to see you again.”  
  
“Oh, wow,” Katniss says. “Well, I liked them, too.”  
  
“And for the record, you never have to do anything to earn cinnamon rolls,” Peeta assures her. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal thanks to my lovely beta readers, Bethanie and Ash.  
> And to "thatoneanon" who inspired the whole tampon thing ;)  
> (Are you guys getting sick of the slow build yet?? Because part of me feels a little evil and the other part of me is reveling in how invested you guys are.) 
> 
> Katniss starts at the bakery in the next chapter. And if you follow me on Tumblr, you might have seen something about a cake fic (which is suprisingly angsty do not let the title fool you) that I'm going to be working on, but I give you my word that it won't derail this project. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Peeta’s alarm goes off earlier than she really expects it. Katniss sits up, a little startled, and he reaches over to try to silence it.He can’t manage it, though with the arm he has slung over his eyes to block the light out. She decides it’s probably best to try to help, so she balances herself on her knees and elbows and tries to hit the little button on the top of the alarm – but to do it, she has to stretch herself completely over the top of him, and the bed doesn’t make the best surface to balance herself on, so she ends up falling onto his chest.  
  
She manages to hit the button mid-fall, but Peeta makes an _uff_ noise when she lands on him. It’s particularly loud in the now-quiet room and she goes to sit up, but Peeta puts a hand on the small of her back. She’s not sure if he means to get her to be still, but she stiffens a little anyway. He’s smiling. “Good morning.”  
  
She sits up. He lets her, this time. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just thought, if I could help –”  
  
“You did,” he assures her.  
  
“I fell on you,” she says, and when he laughs, she realizes how silly she’s being.  
  
“It’s not like it _hurt_ ,” Peeta assures her. “You did wake me up, though.”  
  
  
She swings her legs over the side of the bed when he gets up, and he glances over his shoulder at her. “So, we haven’t really talked about this.”  
  
“About what?” she asks.  
  
“This. I mean, you working at the bakery. I hope you know that if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. So, if you don’t feel up to going in this morning, then you don’t have to.”  
  
“I want to,” she says, because what is she going to do with her days if she doesn’t find some way to work? Sit around the apartment? That’s about as appealing as it was on the first day she was here and he offered to let her stay home. “If . . . do you still want me to? I know it’s sort of your thing, working at the bakery.”  
  
He can’t assure her that that isn’t the case fast enough. His eyes are wide. “No! No, of course I want you to. But I remember Scarlett, when she first got here, she had like four different starting days, and only showed up at all to two of them. So, if you’re feeling like this is something you’re nervous about, then you don’t have to go. And, well, if we get there and you’re not feeling up to it, I’ll bring you back, I promise.”  
  
She nods. Peeta heads for the bathroom, leaving the door open while he brushes his teeth. She has to think about it for a second, but she slips in with him. He beams at her and hands her toothbrush over, and she says a quiet _thank you_ while she gets the toothpaste. It’s a little bit alarming, how easy it is to get ready for the day with Peeta. It isn’t hard to get into a rhythm, moving out of each other’s way whenever one of them needs the sink. His eyes are fixed on her reflection, though, and she can’t help but to notice.  
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“Nothing,” Peeta assures her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and dropping his toothbrush back into the cup. “Really. I’m just happy you’re here.”  
  
 _Oh_. That one takes her a moment to recover from, probably because she actually believes him.“Well, I’m happy I finally get to see a day in the life of Peeta Mellark.”  
  
“Finally?” Peeta asks, washing his hands and starting to put his contact lenses in. She can’t watch, it makes her so uncomfortable, the thought of him touching his eyes like that. “You didn’t tell me that was something you were interested in.”  
  
She shrugs, putting her toothbrush back and going for the comb. “Didn’t come up.”  
  
“Well, I mean, you’re right. Today will probably be a little bit more normal. Not that we can’t still do things, like the camping, and seeing the Odairs and stuff like that.”  
  
“Um, I was wondering about that, actually. Do you think we might be able to go to the beach sometime?” she asks, hesitant. She had only really gotten to glance at it when they were at Finnick and Annie’s house and she’s been thinking about it a lot since they got back. “Just . . . eventually, I mean.”   
  
Peeta beams at her, like she’s just made his day by asking for something. “Yeah, yeah of course we can. I’ll see when we’re off again and we can go check it out then, sound okay?”  
  
  
  
Peeta has a set of keys for the bakery, so they come in through the storefront and he locks it up behind him. It still doesn’t feel right to go behind the counter, but that’s where Peeta leads her, backand through the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the shop.  
There’s a rack full of aprons, and he doesn’t even hesitate to pull one down and go around behind her to help her into it. Just like he did with the sunblock, he brushes her braid out of the way before he pulls the top part up over her head, and then ties the strings around her waist, so gentle that she barely feels it.  
  
Mr. Mellark is already working, and his eyes are on them. She looks away, glad that Peeta didn’t have to go to work the day after she got here, because this is uncomfortable enough. She can’t imagine what it would be like if she didn’t at least know a little bit about Peeta at this point.  
  
Peeta pulls his own apron on. She’s a little tempted to offer to help him tie it, but he seems to have it covered, so she keeps her hands to herself.“Hey, Dad, by the way,” Peeta calls out to his father, who raises a hand in response. He turns back to Katniss, and she can see clearly how excited he is. He’s even _bouncing_ a little while they wash their hands. She tries not to laugh. “Let’s get started! There’s some baking to do before we actually get to open up. Looks like Dad’s on the bread, so . . .” he trails off, reaching up onto a shelf to pull a recipe book down for her. “Here you go. We’ll get started on some cookies.”  
  
“. . . by myself?” she asks, hesitant, and he smiles.  
  
“No, not by yourself. I just thought you might want to be able to see the recipe. Dad and I have most of the day-to-days memorized.”  
  
“Oh,” she says. “Okay.”  
  
Dylan comes back into the kitchen while Peeta is gathering the supplies. “Hey! You came!” he says when he sees Katniss. “Not that we didn’t think you would. I mean, it’s just – well, we didn’t think you would.”  
  
“Yeah, um, Peeta told me about Scarlett,” Katniss says, looking down at the book.  
  
“Which was fine,” Dylan says, and when Peeta comes to stand beside her, she imagines him only saying that because Peeta gave him a look. “But, yeah, glad you’re here. Good to see you guys again.”  
  
“Good to see you, too,” she agrees. The four of them work in silence for a while, Peeta speaking quietly to her, giving instructions or explanations or something while they get the dough put together. He’s particularly patient with her.  
  
“It’s okay,” he says when she groans at the eggshell not breaking cleanly. “That’s why I had you crack them in another bowl, see?” he asks, picking the small piece of shell out easily. “Easy fix. Not a big deal.”  
  
She feels stubborn, though, so she looks down at her feet. “I’m no good at this.”  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “We’ve been here less than an hour,” he reminds her. “I mean, if you don’t like it, that’s one thing, but – and I mean this with as much affection as possible – Katniss, you can’t expect to just start off being good at it.”  
  
She nods.  
  
“I mean, who would, first starting out? And besides, I _did_ promise I’d teach you. Right?”  
  
“Right,” she agrees. Once it’s all properly mixed, he shows her how to scoop the batter for cookies, and she knocks her shoulder against him when she realizes that she isn’t terrible at it.  
  
Eventually, when Dylan has gone up front to start opening, Peeta’s father clears his throat. “Could I ask you something, Katniss?”  
  
“Sure,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him. “What?”  
  
“What’s it like?”  
  
“Working here? Better than the mines, so far.”  
  
Her joke gets a laugh this time. She assumes Peeta’s laugh is because she’s made the joke before, but Mr. Mellark seems to understand what she means.  
  
“No, um, I actually meant District Twelve. What was it like? When you left?”  
  
Peeta clears his throat. “Dad, she just got here. Can you try not to give her the third degree?”  
  
She shakes her head. “What do you want to know?” she asks. “Um, I know the baker, Mr. Cartwright, he has a daughter around my age. Her name is Delly. And she has a younger brother, too, I think. Around my sister’s age.”  
  
“Delly,” Mr. Mellark repeats.  
  
“She was nice. I mean, we weren’t friends, but . . . she seemed nice. And looked like Peeta, I guess. I mean, she was Merchant. So, blonde hair, blue eyes, all of that. And she smiled at everyone she saw.”  
  
Peeta is watching her.  
  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t spend a lot of time in Town. I wish I knew more,” she says. “I’m pretty sure the son was going to apprentice for the shoemaker, last I heard.”  
  
The tray is full, now. She didn’t even really have to think about it to keep scooping them. Peeta lifts it and starts to take it to the oven, and she follows him without even thinking about it. There’s no real reason for it, and she’s sort of embarrassed when she realizes what she’s done. She’s pathetic. Like her sister’s stupid cat, following her around in the kitchen begging for scraps. Only, she’s not sure what it is that she wants from him. Pathetic.  
  
Peeta doesn’t mind, though. The smile he gives her could only really be described as radiant, and she can feel herself smiling in response. “You didn’t have to answer him,” he reminds her. “I mean, I’m sure he appreciated it, but –”  
  
“He didn’t know?” she whispers back, and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. She can’t even imagine it, her sister having children and her not knowing until twenty years later. She decides that she’ll have to add a note to her next letter to her sister, asking about the Cartwrights, but then an awful thought hits her. “Did they not read his letters? Or . . . was he not allowed to write them?”  
  
Peeta glances around. “Um, we’ll talk about it somewhere a little more private. But it’s not gonna happen to you, not if I have anything to do with it.”  
  
 She nods.  
  
  
Maybe in an effort to give his father some privacy, Peeta trades with Dylan and brings Katniss up front with him. She thinks of him saying that he wanted to show her off and doesn’t doubt it, because he introduces her as his wife to nearly every customer that comes in.  
  
“Ah! Who is this?” a brightly dressed woman asks, nodding towards Katniss.  
  
“I’m Katniss Ev– _Mellark._ Katniss Mellark,” Katniss answers, stumbling over the name. She hasn’t said it out loud yet.  
  
“My wife,” Peeta clarifies, reaching over to take Katniss’ hand. He either doesn’t notice the slip or he doesn’t care. “And Mellark Bakery’s newest employee.”  
  
“You never told me you were getting married! She’s very pretty,” the woman says, and Katniss can’t help but to notice that she has yet to directly acknowledge her.  
  
“I’m with you on that,” Peeta says, smiling. “Katniss, this is my aunt Effie. What can I help you with?”  
  
It’s a birthday cake order. As Peeta and Effie talk specifics, Katniss finds herself growing more and more lost. Peeta pulls his hand free to take down notes, his handwriting quick and flowing on a piece of paper as he nods and says things like _buttercream_ and _fondant_ and all kinds of other things she has no idea about. She almost thinks she would be more useful in the back, but she’s far from being willing to leave the safety of Peeta’s side.  
  
  
A few hours in, Peeta gets a phone call. She actually manages to help a customer with their bread while he’s talking, and he gives her another one of those wide smiles.  
  
“Good news,” Peeta says, and then turns to look at the clock. “Actually, a couple of things. Shift’s almost done, for one, and for another, we get to go pick your things up today.”  
  
“Really?” she asks, unable to keep herself from grabbing his arm. She had almost forgotten about her bag.  
  
Peeta laughs. “Yeah! We’ll go as soon as we get out of here.”  
  
  
It’s strange, seeing the station from such a different perspective. Was it really just a week ago that she got off the train? They come in through the door that Peeta must have come through, and she can see a few stragglers. Brides and groomswho didn’t get picked up as soon as the trains came in. She can’t help herself but to scan the crowd for a familiar face, now that there’s a chance of one being there.  
  
There are none, of course. She knew that there wouldn’t be. Not many people actually sign up from District Twelve, and even fewerare actually ordered. She still can’t figure out why Peeta would want her, tan and unsmiling – and from District Twelve, of all places – but he seems to be pleased enough with the way she’s turned out. Though, she still can’t exactly be sure that it’s going to last.  
  
  
Peeta marches straight to the counter, Katniss in tow, and informs the woman that they’re there to pick up a lost bag. The woman asks what it looks like, and Peeta looks over at Katniss, ready for her to step in.  
  
“It was, um, it’s dark green, with zippers and mesh pockets,” she begins, uncertain. “It got lost when my bridal train had problems, so we switched trains in Six, and they – it got lost, I guess.”   
  
“This is your wife?” the woman asks, looking at Peeta.  
  
“Yes,” Peeta says.  
  
“I’m going to need your maiden name, sweetheart,” the woman says, actually addressing Katniss. “The one on your luggage tag.”  
  
“Katniss Everdeen,” she answers, and the woman nods, turning to go into the back. Peeta is watching her. She can’t help but to grin when she finally sees her bag again. They both thank the woman when she gives their bag up, and Katniss clutches it against her chest. Peeta wraps his arm around Katniss’ shoulders when they head for the doors, because she’s distracted and he probably doesn’t want her to get run into again. She’s giddy enough in her excitement that she leans against him.  
  
She doesn’t wait until they get back into the apartment to open it. She has the bag unzipped and is pulling her things out by the time the car is even moving. She had thought everything was gone forever. Her father’s clothes. The second dress her mother sent. A small throw blanket her sister knit under their mother’s careful supervision. The plant book. Her eyes fill with tears, and Peeta must hear her sniffling, because his eyebrows knit together in concern.  
  
“Everything okay?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, wiping at her face. “I just never thought I was gonna see any of this again.”  
  
“Okay,” Peeta says. “I was afraid maybe it wasn’t the right bag or something.”  
  
  
He doesn’t push her about it. She excuses herself into the bedroom to unpack and changes into her father’s flannel shirt. It’s much more worn than Peeta’s, with maybe one of the original buttons, and the fabric isn’t quite as soft, but it comes from home, so she pulls it on and a pair of the sleeping pants that she packed.  
She doesn’t exactly want to share the plant book with Peeta, selfish as it sounds, so spends a little bit of extra time in the bedroom, just running her fingers over her father’s careful writing, turning the pages, smelling it. When she’s finished, she tucks it into the bag and stashes the bag under the bed, so she’ll know where to get to it next time.  
  
Peeta is waiting for her in the kitchen, already started on dinner, and he beams at her when sees her in her old clothes.  
  
“I was wondering why you picked that shirt that first night, but I think I have my answer.”  
  
She shrugs, and he laughs. “It’s my father’s,” she admits after a moment. “It’s been my favorite for a while, now.”  
  
He nods.  
  
“Thank you, by the way,” Katniss adds. “For getting it all back for me.”  
  
“Of course,” he says. “I’m sorry it took so long.” 

* * *

  
  
  
Scarlett and Rye are at the bakery with them the next afternoon, but, unfortunately, that means that Peeta’s father has been swapped out for his mother. Peeta tries to take their spot at the counter again, but Mrs. Mellark refuses, says that Peeta is needed in the back.  
  
“And you can take your wife with you,” she adds curtly.  
  
“Like I’d leave you out there with her,” he says lowly as the doors swing shut behind them. She wants to laugh, but something tells her it isn’t exactly a joke.  
  
  
Peeta needs to get started on the decorations for a cake, and he pulls up a second stool so that she can stay beside him while he does it.  
  
It’s sort of amazing, watching him work. He pipes the flowers out of a frosting bag onto little pieces of wax paper, green leaves first, and then he switches to another bag to add the buds themselves, some little, some bloomed. It’s no wonder he’s an artist, she thinks, wondering idly if they’re going to expect her to be able to do anything like this. He offers her the bag, as if to try to teach her, but she shakes her head quickly. After a while, though, when the flowers become uninteresting, she starts to watch him, instead. It’s the perfect opportunity, really. He’s far too focused on his work to catch her.  
  
He looks different when he’s concentrating. His usual easy expression replaced by something more intense and removed. She’s noticed it once or twice, when he’s been particularly concerned about her, but other than that, it’s new.  
She also becomes a little fixated on his eyelashes, which she doesn’t usually notice much because they’re so blonde, but she’s so close, and the lighting in the kitchen is so bright that she can see them. They’re a light golden color and so long that she doesn’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. He stops suddenly and glances up on her, and she starts, as if she’s been caught spying on him, which she supposes she has, in some strange way. She just can’t help but to try to find _something_ about him that would make him undesirable to the women here. It couldn’t possibly be his easy demeanor, or anything about his physical appearance.  
  
“This must be getting boring,” Peeta says apologetically. “Scarlett could probably teach you how to make rolls, if you wanted.”  
  
“No, I’m fine here,” she assures him, and he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal gratitude, as always, to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash. 
> 
> And also, if I may plug my new fic here, I'm posting yet another arranged marriage fic. It's a crossover with the movie TiMER and it's called Canary In The Coalmine, so if you like this fic, you might enjoy that one, too.


	12. Chapter 12

  
She’s just getting dressed after her shower when Peeta calls out for her. It’s been four days at the bakerynow, and she still has yet to tell him no when he offers her the first shower.She’s not sure how he can stand it, it gets so hot back in the kitchen.   
  
“You have mail!” he continues, and she makes a mad dash for the kitchen, nearly slipping when her loose hair drips on the tile floor. He laughs, takes hold of her arm to steady her, and she grabs the envelope out of his hand nearly the same second that he offers it to her.   
  
“It’s from my sister!” she says when she sees the District Twelve address carefully printed in one of the corners.  She really hopes that’ll make up for her rudeness, if he understands. She thinks she hears him laugh when she flops down into her seat at the table to read it, but that doesn’t matter. Her sister’s words are right in front of her. Nothing else could possibly matter.   
  
**Dear Katniss,  
I’m glad you like your husband. Mom and I were worried that you would hate everything about it when you got there.   
  
** Did she say she _likes_ Peeta? She can’t remember.   
  
**Tell him I said hi, please. And thank him for letting you send a letter. I didn’t think I would ever get to hear from you again.**  
Gale came by not long after your train left. He explained that he wanted you to tell us, and at first I was angry that he knew and I didn’t, but it would have been hard to just sit around and wait for you to be ordered. So I’m kind of glad you didn’t tell me. At least, I am when I think about it rationally. But I do miss you terribly. Mom and Gale do, too. It’s weird, you not being here. I never knew things were bad enough for you to have to do that.   
  
I’m going to graduate soon. I think I’m going to work with Mom. Be a Healer, like we talked about. I’ve never seen as much money as they brought us after your train arrived in the capitol. Mom thinks it should be enough to last us for years.   
  
She reads for the rest of the page, front and back, about District Twelve. What she’s missed. What her sister has been learning in school. Over and over again about how grateful Prim was to hear from her. She reads the letter two, three times before she’s willing to set it down. Peeta is in the living room when she’s finished, and she’s pretty sure it’s hisattempt to give her some space. She wants to write her sister back as soon as she can, but she comes to stand by the side of the couch.   
  
“My sister said hi. And to thank you for letting me write to her.I don’t think she ever thought she was gonna hear from me again.”   
  
Peeta gives her a smile, and she’s convinced it was the right decision, coming over to see him. ”I think you’ve thanked me enough for the both of you, but you’re welcome.”   
  
“Did you need my help with dinner?” she asks.   
  
“No, you can write your letter,” he says. “I’ve got it covered. Though – since we’re off tomorrow night and all – I was thinking that maybe we could go out for a nice dinner. None of my family or friends or anything. Just you and me.”

  
“Like a date?” she asks, skeptical, and he grins.   
  
“Exactly like a date. I mean, if you’re interested.”   
  
He looks a little bashful now, like he’s expecting her to turn him down. Is that something she would be allowed to do? Granted, she doesn’t _want_ to tell him no. Especially not with how excited he was when he started pitching the idea. “I’ll go. It sounds nice.”   
  
  
He leaves her alone in the apartment for the first time the next day, after work. It may be her doing, for the most part, since she finally let him have the first shower. But once he was dressed, he promised he would be right back. “You can go ahead and get ready, if you want. I’ll only take a minute.”   
  
He is back quickly. So it’s not really _that_ weird, being there without Peeta. Though she is starting to suspect that maybe it would be weird to be anywhere in the Capitol without Peeta. But she has time to shower and – somewhat reluctantly – put on the dress that Annie gave her. Peeta had put on a jacket that was either the one she met him in or remarkably similar to it, and when it was paired with straight black pants and a crisp white button-down shirt, she’s pretty sure that means it’s going to be something formal, whatever it is they’re doing tonight. She’s barely had time to put her shoes on when a knock comes at the door.   
  
She actually laughs out loud when she looks through the eyehole and sees that it’s Peeta waiting there. He must have brought his keys, so she can’t figure out why he needs her to let him in, but she’s happy to help. Things make a little bit more sense – if only a little – when he comes in and presents her with a bouquet and a shy smile. “For you.”   
  
“Oh, thank you,” she says, taking them. He shifts a little, so the plastic bag he’s been holding on his forearm slides down to his hand. They’re daisies. A ton of them. She lifts them to her nose to smell them, not caring if she’ll embarrass herself, because he bought them for her and it would be a waste if she didn’t, right?“Did you leave just to buy me flowers?”   
  
He bites his lip, and she can’t help but to think that the nervousness is endearing. “That depends. Do you like them?”   
  
“Of course I do. They’re lovely.”   
  
“Then yes,” Peeta says. “I was afraid you’d think I was silly, though, so I gassed up the car while I was out. Plausible deniability, you know?”  
  
“I might still think you’re silly,” she assures him, and he laughs.   
  
“Okay, so, anyway, I picked up a vase while I was out. But I know little to nothing about vase shopping, so I hope it works fine. I mean, it should, right? It’s just for water.”   
  
She wouldn’t know. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”   
  
“Well then I’m even more relieved you like them,” Peeta says, heading for the kitchen and pulling a thin glass vase from the bag. He rinses it out before he fills it with water. “By the way, we didn’t get that dress together, did we?”   
  
“Why?” she asks, trying not to be offended. Maybe she should have just put her jeans back on.   
   
“I love it,” he says. “I just don’t remember it. And I have the distinct feeling that I would remember seeing you in something like that.”   
  
Her cheeks feel hot. She looks down at the flowers, embarrassed at her overreaction, grateful she held her tongue. “Oh. Annie gave it to me.”   
  
Staring at the flowers still in her arms, she’s suddenly struck with a strange, nearly irresistible urge to put one of the daisies in her hair. She only ever used to wear the flower crowns at Prim’s insistence, but something inside of her is dying to be childish, just this once.   
  
“Well, I’ll have to remember to thank her. It really suits you.”   
  
She hands her flowers over, a little sad to do it, and he cuts the stems a little shorter. When he tries to slide them in, there are two that won’t fit, though, and he sort of frowns down at them, like he’s second-guessing his choice in vases. Before she can talk herself out of it, she picks them up and tucks them behind her ear. When Peeta turns to look at her, his gaze falls somewhat left of her eyes, and his smile grows twice as wide.   
  
“Are you ready to go?” he asks, offering her his arm. She doesn’t link up with him, but she does follow him.   
  
“Where did you say we were going?”   
  
“I didn’t say, yet,” he says. “But I made reservations at this little place not too far from here.”   
  
“Burgers?” she asks hopefully.   
  
“Mm, I’m not sure. They might have them, but I’ve never tried them there, so I can’t vouch for it. The steaks are great, though.”  
  
  
It isn’t a particularly long drive to the restaurant, and once they get there, they’re seated across from each other at a small, round table. The place is dimly lit, but not so much that she can’t see him. The waiter recognizes Peeta when he comes to start them off with a basket of rolls, and Peeta, of course, introduces her to the man – Mitchell, or something like that – as his wife.   
  
“Is there where you would take your dates?” she asks when the waiter walks away, and Peeta’s eyes sort of widen, like he’s startled by the question.   
  
“What?”   
  
“I mean . . . because, at the campground, you said, you know, you didn’t take girls there before. So is there where you took them?”   
  
“Loaded question,” he says, smiling. “No. Not here. Dinner was sort of a common date, though. Is it because I know the waiter? Because that’s a coincidence. I didn’t even know he worked here.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“Why do you ask?”   
  
She shrugs. “I just wonder, sometimes, what it was like before I got here.”   
  
He thinks for a moment, takes a drink of his water. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, but I’ll play. What’s your first question?”   
  
He wants to play the game. She guesses she can do that, even though it takes her a moment to settle on her first question. “Well, Annie said that it was nice to see you happy again after _these last few years_. And I was wondering what that was about? Was that when you had your accident?”   
  
“Yeah, that’s probably what she was talking about. Well, that, and a story I really should have told you when I mentioned the leg in the first place.”   
  
“What story?” she asks, and he shakes his head.   
  
“My turn. Remember? Okay, so if I asked you to rate how weird it is for you to be here on a scale of one to ten, one being completely comfortable and ten being the opposite, what would you say?”   
  
“Um . . .” she thinks about it for a moment, lowers the number so she can be a little more sure he won’t be offended. “Eight?”   
  
There’s more he wants to say, she can tell, but she takes her turn anyway.   
  
“What’s the story?”   
  
“Well, I avoided this when we were camping because, like I said, it’s awful first date conversation. I still maintain that it is, and that maybe this is a little too much baggage for this early into our relationship –”  
  
 _Relationship_. “I don’t care. I want to know,” she interrupts.   
  
“I saw that one coming, for the record. Okay, so, this is like three, four years ago. I mean, I’m still practically a kid, and there was a girl in the picture at that point. Her name was Glimmer, and we’d been together for like a year and a half at this point. And . . . after the accident, she just sort of took herself out of the picture.”  
  
“Did she know what happened?”   
  
“She was cheating on me with Cato, practically the whole time, so I think she felt guilty. But, yeah, she knew. Finnick called her when I was in the hospital, and he said she cried and apologized, but she never came.”   
  
“Did you try calling her?” Katniss asks, not sure why she cares so much. Well, maybe she does know. Being deserted like that . . . she can’t even imagine.   
  
“When I was still hopped up on pain medicine I did. But she never answered.”   
  
“Peeta,” she says, and she knows that her voice is too quiet, too close to pitying. But she’s angry at this girl, and since there’s nothing to take her anger out on it, it has no choice, really, but to transfer to being sad on Peeta’s behalf.   
  
“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I mean, clearly it’s a little heavy for dinnertime conversation, but it is fine. It wasn’t a good relationship. I mean, even other than the whole cheating thing. She was manipulative, and high maintenance and never trusted me – ironically enough.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“My friends saw it, too. I mean, I just wasn’t happy. All my friends saw it. Tried to get me to come to my senses. She wasn’t doing me any favors.”   
  
“So . . . then you ordered me?” she guesses, and he actually laughs.   
  
“No. Of course not. It’s nowhere near that simple. You have _nothing_ to do with her.”   
  
“Okay,” she says, and she wants to keep asking questions, but Peeta picks up his menu and starts to look at it.   
  
“You know, I think I saved up a couple of questions over the course of that story. Do you mind if I get us even?”   
  
“No,” she says. “Go ahead.   
  
“Okay. Well, it may not surprise you that I want to talk about that eight. Is there – and I want you to be honest, please – is there anything I could do to make that number lower?”   
  
“No!” she says, maybe a little bit too quickly. She’s grateful her face is hidden, now, by her menu, because she’s sure she’s blushing. “You’ve been . . . Peeta, there’s nothing you could do that you aren’t already doing.”    
  
“Okay. And I have to ask anyway, is there something I’ve done or I’m doing that’s making that number higher? Because if you’re uncomfortable, say, working at the bakery, or meeting my friends or going out to dinner, then I really would like to know.”   
  
“Do you not even realize how _nice_ you’ve been to me?” Katniss asks, lowering her menu to try to get a glimpse at him. His menu is already closed again, on the table in front of him. “I could still be at ten, you know. Or worse. And the eight is only really when we’re out in the city. In the apartment, it’s probably closer to a five.”   
  
He grins.   
  
“What?”   
  
“You called it _the_ apartment. It’s nice.” When the waiter comes by, he stops, but once they’ve put in their order for steaks,he continues. “I might even believe you about that six.”   
  
“I said five.”   
  
“I know, but you’re also a terrible liar, so I rounded up.”   
  
She tries to scowl at him, but he’s laughing, and she can’t help but to at least smile. “Is that why you brought me here? So you could ask me that?”   
  
“No, of course not,” Peeta says. “If you’ll remember correctly, _you_ were the one to start the game. Is there something you’re not telling me about your intentions in agreeing to come with me?”   
  
This earns him a real smile. Maybe it isn’t so bad, dating Peeta Mellark. “Well,” she says, reaching for one of the rolls, “I’m in it for the bread, but I sort of figured you already knew that.”  
  
He holds his hand to his heart in mock-offense. “You’re in it for _this_ bread? Katniss, if you’re using me for bread, at least wait until we get back to the bakery. Or the apartment. I feel like this isn’t your full potential.”   
  
  
Even though she eats more than she thought she possibly could at dinner, Peeta bakes for her when they get home. He calls them cheese buns and tells her that if he’s learned anything about her in the last two weeks, she’s going to love them.   
  
They sit on the couch while the bread rises and she digests, and she puts her feet in his lap without even really thinking about it. It’s such a part of their routine, now. There’s some movie on, but neither of them are really watching it. He keeps looking over at her.   
  
“You know, I really love those flowers in your hair,” he says, and she reaches up to touch them, a little embarrassed. She had forgotten she put them there.   
  
“Oh. It’s silly.”   
  
“No, they’re nice,” he says. “Makes me want to keep flowers around the house more often.”   
  
He’s right about the cheese buns. They smell so good that she ignores his warnings about the temperature, and eats it hot. “These are . . . Peeta, did you give them to me _just_ so I would be ruined for any other bread?”   
  
“It’s a lucky thing you married a baker,” he says. “Plus they’ll travel well tomorrow, when we leave for the beach.”   
  
“What?” Katniss asks, smiling. She figured he would have forgotten by now.   
  
“If you still want to go,” he says. “I didn’t plan on staying overnight, just because it’ll be easier logistically to leave in the morning and come back at night, but if you wanted to stay with Finnick and Annie, I could see if we could borrow their extra room.”   
  
“Of course I still want to go,” she says. “Especially if we’re bringing these with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash for beta-ing on such short notice!


	13. Chapter 13

She keeps the flowers in her hair longer than she needs to. She doesn’t take them out until they’ve brushed their teeth and changed into their pajamas. In fact, it’s after that, because Peeta is settled into the bed beside her by the time she leans over to get her book from the bag under the bed. Suddenly, she can’t remember why this was something she wanted to keep from him. Especially not with the way all the blood is rushing to her head. So she sits up, puts the book in her lap, and tucks the daisies somewhere in the back of the book.   
  
Peeta is trying not to look, but she can’t help but to think that maybe he should. “Peeta?” she asks.   
  
He sits up against the headboard, taking his glasses from the endtableand glancing over at her. He probably wasn’t expecting her to say anything else to him tonight. She wasn’t really expecting to, either. She wishes he would wear the glasses more often than he does. She likes them. “Yes?” he asks.   
  
“You might like this,” she says. He scoots over a little closer until they’re sitting practically shoulder-to-shoulder.   
  
“What is it?” he asks. She sets the book in his lap in answer, but he doesn’t open it. He’s going to make her explain, even if she tries to get out of it by looking away. She’s embarrassed, suddenly. This feels like a waste of his time. And a waste of her time, too, probably. He doesn’t seem to feel that way, though.  
  
“It’s just, well, with all the drawing you like to do,” she answers, reaching over to flip the book open. “I don’t know. I just thought you would like it.”   
  
He does. Or, at least, he makes her think he does. The first page can’t possibly be interesting to him. It’s really just a list of all of the women that have had the book passed down to them, ending with her mother’s maiden and married name. She wonders if she should add her name. If she has the right to. Surely when this book was first started, they never expected it to go to the _Capitol_.  
  
She turns the page, and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat when he sees the first drawing. “Oh, wow,” he breathes. “Look at that _detail_. They used a pen?”   
  
“I think,” she answers. “They had to get it just right, though. Otherwise you’d use the wrong plant for something and you could kill someone.”   
  
He's looking at the little inscription under it, listing all the medicines that the plant can be used in. “Wait, what was this for?”   
  
“The apothecary,” she answers. “But they gave it to my mother a few years after she got married, and she and my sister used it.”   
  
“They were doctors?” Peeta asks, and she shakes her head even though it’s practically the same thing.   
  
“Healers. They worked – they _work_ – magic.”   
  
“And you don’t?” Peeta asks carefully, looking over at her for permission before he turns the page. She nods, making sure he knows that he can, and then chooses her words carefully.   
  
She sort of smiles. “I’m much better at killing things.”  

 She’s afraid that this will scare him, or something, but he laughs, instead. She wants to tell him about how important the book is. About how it saved her life after her father died. She doesn’t, though. Just glances from the drawings in the book to Peeta, pleased by his reaction.   
  
“Um, if this is something you wanted to keep to yourself, I completely understand you keeping it under the bed, but anything that was in that bag, Katniss, we have room for it here,” Peeta informs her, and he looks like he’s not completely sure this is something he should tell her.   
  
When they reach the end of the book, he offers to put it on the nightstand, and she thanks him. They’re both pretty surprised, she thinks, that she takes him up on the offer.   
  
  
  
She can’t sleep that night, and she tries for the first time to creep out of the room. It goes well. Or at least, it does until she reaches the kitchen. All she wants is a glass of water, but she might wake Peeta up if she turns the lights on, since he sleeps with the bedroom door open. She goes too far, though, and bangs her shin against one of the chairs.   
  
Peeta is out almost instantly, her eyes are just adjusted enough to the dark that she can make his figure out while he gropes around on the wall for the switch, but she still has to blink a few times to adjust to the light when it floods the kitchen. He’s not wearing his glasses, which is probably part of why he’s squinting.“Katniss?” he asks, his voice hushed. He looks relieved when he sees her, but only for a moment. “What happened? Are you okay?”   
  
She realizes she’s still holding her shin, so she lets go of it. “I’m okay,” she assures him.   
  
“What happened?” he asks again, coming over and pulling her chair out for her. She sits down, but doesn’t expect for him to kneel in front of the seat, inch her pajama pants up, and examine her leg.   
  
“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers, and he looks up at her, looking almost more concerned than he was before.   
  
“Was it dreams again?” he asks standing up, and she shakes her head.   
  
“No. I just . . . I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know why. And then I thought, you know, maybe if I got something to drink, it would help. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”   
  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Peeta says, and she watches as he gets two mugs down, filling them with water and sticking them in the little white _microwave_ that she’s not the worst at using. “I couldn’t really get to bed, either. I mean, I dozed a little, but . . . I figured you were asleep.”   
  
She smiles. “Nope. I was awake for once.”   
  
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve adjusted admirably,” he admonishes, but he’s smiling, too. “I mean it. Not only to the time zone, but to the bakery, and the apartment, and – well, everything, I guess.”   
  
“Oh,” she says. It’s weird, him acting like he’s _proud_ of her. Especially since she feels like she’s done such a terrible job at trying to figure out how things work here. “Okay.”  
  
He pulls the mugs out and mixes some powder in. She wonders if maybe that’s some kind of medicine to help her sleep. Remembers the drinks her mother would force her to drink on nights when the dreams were particularly bad. Ones that didn’t do anything but make it harder for her to wake up. She shakes her head when he tries to hand it to her, and he frowns, sitting down beside her.

“I probably should have asked first,” he says. “My bad.”  
  
She feels bad now. She should have just taken the cup. “It doesn’t help . . . at least, not for me. I prefer to just stay awake.”   
  
He looks concerned, now. “What?”   
  
“I’m sorry,” she says.   
  
“For not liking hot chocolate?” Peeta asks. “Because, you know, we don’t actually have to like all the same things. I may not understand it, but . . .”   
  
“Hot chocolate?” she repeats, taking the cup off of the table and peering into it. “It isn’t medicine?”   
  
His eyes get wide. “No, it’s not medicine. Were you –? Did you think I was going to _drug_ you, Katniss?”   
  
She dips a finger into the drink, grateful for an excuse to not answer that question. It’s warm, but not too hot to drink.   
  
“And here I thought we were actually making progress,” Peeta says. “No, it’s not medicine. It’s just a drink. I can switch with you, if it would make you feel better.”   
  
She’s mortified. “Well, I mean, I thought you were going to drink it, too. My mother gave my sleep syrup, sometimes, when I had bad nights, and so, I don’t know, I just thought, maybe . . .”   
  
“Nope. It’s just a drink,” Peeta knocks his knee against hers under the table. “See how much better things work when we communicate?”   
  
“Sorry,” she mumbles. When she takes a drink, he goes on to say that he was talking to himself, too, and that he should have explained what it was in the first place, but she doesn’t listen. The hot chocolate is probably the best thing she’s ever tasted in her life. It’s warm and sweet and she doesn’t stop until she’s drained the cup entirely, it’s so good.   
  
“You like it?” Peeta asks, smiling.   
  
She nods eagerly, and he slides his own mug over to her, standing up to refill the first one. She feels a little guilty, but decides that maybe if he doesn’t mind then she shouldn’t either. “Hey, Peeta?” she asks, and he looks over at her.   
  
“Yes?”   
  
“I had fun tonight.”   
  
“Me too,” he says with a smile so wide she wonders how his cheeks don’t hurt. She doesn’t ask permission before she opens the bag on the table, pulling one of the cheese buns out. “Dip it in the hot chocolate,” Peeta suggests, coming back with his second cup. “That’s how I like it, at least.”   
  
She takes it on faith and sort of groans when she tastes it. “You’re going to get me fat,” she declares, glancing over at him, and it’s such a nice thing to be able to actually joke about that she laughs. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind. He looks happy.   
  
“Is that okay?” he asks. “Do I have your permission?”   
  
“Sure,” she answers, wondering how hard it would be to send a box of cheese buns to her sister. “I’ll allow it.”   
  
They don’t stay up for too much longer after that. Just long enough to finish their hot chocolate and a couple more cheese buns. She liked them slightly better when they were hot, but she’s not complaining about them cold, either. Especially not when they’re dipped in hot chocolate.   
  
He offers her more, but she shakes her head. She could stay up all night long drinking it, but she really should get some sleep if they’re going to leave in the morning. So she sits out in the dining room with him while he finishes his, and then they brush their teeth again. She’s warm from the inside out when they get back in the bed, and she’s vaguely aware of how her head ends up in the crook of his neck, but she doesn’t care enough to move. She’s not sure what it would take to get her to care enough to move, this is so nice.   
  
How did this bed seem so big, once? How did she get so used to sharing it with him? That might be a better question.   
  
“Better?” Peeta asks quietly, like he’s not sure if she’s awake or asleep.   
  
“Mm,” she manages. She’s most of the way asleep already, which is much further than she got before.   
  
“And your leg?” he asks, quiet. “Is that feeling any better?”   
  
“Mm,” she says again. “I’m fine.”   
  
He sort of laughs. “Goodnight, Katniss.”   
  
“Goodnight,” she returns.   
  
  
He actually has to wake her up in the morning. It’s the first time, and even though his hand on her shoulder is gentle, she shoots up. The other days, he’s been able to wake her up just by moving around or having his alarm go off. He’s already dressed, though, and his hair is wet, so he’s been up for a while.   
  
He looks concerned. “Sorry. It’s just that it’s finally morning and I feel like a kid on Christmas, so if you wanted to get going soon . . .”   
  
“I do,” she says, wondering if it would be weird to ask what _Christmas_ has to do with any of this. “Thank you.”   
  
“No problem. I debated, for the record,” Peeta says, sitting down on the end of the bed and crossing his legs. He’s wearing shorts this morning, and she wonders – like she usually does – about his prosthetic. How does it not rust, for one? And does it not get uncomfortable if it’s attached to the bone the way he says it was? She wonders if this would be a strange thing to write to her sister about. If he would mind. Of course, he doesn’t read the letters she sends or receives, but it might be gossip. “But I figured you could sleep in the car if you were still tired.”   
  
“I wouldn’t make very good company if I was sleeping,” she returns, even as she yawns, and he laughs.   
  
“That’s okay, Katniss,” he assures her. “Hey, how’s your leg this morning?”   
  
“It’s fine,” she answers. She thinks it’s probably going to bruise, but she doesn’t tell him this. He might feel bad. “Well, if you’re ready, I’ll just go grab a quick shower and be ready to go.”   
  
“Great!” he says, smiling. “We’ll have to stop and get you a swimsuit, but after that we can be on our way.” He smiles. “It’ll be just like old times.”   
  
“We have old times?” she asks.

 

As usual, he makes breakfast before they leave. He’s getting self-conscious about it, saying that he hopes she’s not sick of his eggs yet. They’ve had them nearly every day since she’s been here, but she doesn’t mind. Especially not with how many different ways he knows how to make them. Scrambled, hard-boiled, over easy, in an omelet. He’s made bacon two or three times, too, on days that he’s gotten up early enough.   
  
He keeps her supplied with toast, too. And oranges, and orange _juice_ , and tons of other kinds of fruit, too. And extra pastries and cookies he buys before they leave the bakery.  And that’s not even to mention the cheese buns he made her last night. It’s almost like he’s trying to make sure she’s happy by bribing her with food. And if he was trying to use anything else to spoil her with it probably wouldn’t work, so she actually doesn’t mind all too much.   
That’s why she didn’t miss shopping with him. Especially not for a bathing suit. She doesn’t even know how to look for one, but she wants to be fast, so that she can get to the beach quickly. It’s uncomfortable, trying to find a bathing suit she’d be willing to wear around him. She ends up settling on one that’s all one piece and black, and after they’ve checked out, she excuses herself to the bathroom so she can put it on under her clothes, putting her underthings in the bag they got with the swimming suit. Peeta is wearing his swimming shorts as regular shorts, after all.   
  
“Ready?” Peeta asks when she comes out, offering her his hand. She accepts it, thanking him for the swimming suit.  “Oh, no, don’t worry about it. And besides, you’ve been raking in some serious money, working at the bakery.”   
  
She has? She sort of smiles. “All right. But thanks, anyway.”   
  
He rolls his eyes, but he looks happy. Almost like he thinks she’s _funny_. She supposes that there are all kinds of other things – all kinds of _worse_ things – that he could think about her, so she doesn’t mind, exactly.   
  
  
“So,” she says, closing the bag of cheese buns again. There’s no point. She’ll be getting into them again sooner or later. This is the third one she’s had this morning and they’re not even out of the city yet. “Do you want some of these?”   
  
He considers it for a moment before he shakes his head. She wonders if it’s because the bag is starting to get emptier and he knows how much she likes them. She hopes not. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and she reaches over for the radio, pressing the button that she knows will turn it on. They haven’t been listening to the folk music at night, but Peeta has kept it in his car for her.   
She actually hums along with it some days, on the way to work. They sort of work through the disk one or two songs a day, because everything is so close together in the city. Today, though, there’s plenty of time to listen to it, and even better, it’s quiet enough that she can hear Peeta singing.   
  
And he’s awful. Out of key and tuneless and she can’t help but to smile just listening to him. And it’s not even because he’s bad. It’s because he’s so, _so_ happy while he’s singing that it’s contagious. How is this the first time she’s really heard him? Granted, she walked up on him when he was humming that first day. And, she realizes, he sings in the shower sometimes, but through the walls of the apartment, it gets too muffled for her to really be able to make out.   
  
She’s trying hard not to stare, because she’s afraid that he’ll stop if he notices the way she’s watching him. She focuses on her leg, instead, tapping along to the beat. He notices this. And it somehow makes him even happier.   
  
“Come on,” he says, looking over at her. “I know you know it. Sing with me!”   
  
She opens and closes her mouth, hesitant. Peeta reaches over and turns the volume up. She can’t hear him anymore, even though he’s clearly still singing loudly. She wonders if maybe she _should_ sing with him. She doesn’t want to, though. She’s not even sure when the last time she’s even sang is. Singing reminds her too much of her father. And she can’t figure out what, exactly, her father would think about this. About Peeta.   
  
He looks over at her when they pull to a stop at a red light, and even though she isn’t singing, he grins at her. She knows that, judging by the fact that he explained this CD as one _his father liked_ , this can’t possibly be his favorite. She wants to hear it someday, but with how constant these songs have been for her, she’s not ready to change that yet.   
  
  
She asks if he needs help with his sunblock again when they’re in the parking lot.   
He does. And he’s incredibly thankful for her to do it. He takes his shirt off, first, and tosses it in the back seat, and then fishes out the same container from when they went camping. He offers to do her, first, but she shakes her head. There’s no point in wasting his stuff if she doesn’t need it. She’s careful to cover as much of his back as she can, with long, broad strokes of the white stuff. It soaks into his skin, so she figures she’s just going to have to trust that it’s going to work either way.   
  
“What’s the plan?” she asks, and he cranes his neck to try and look at her even though she’s behind him.   
  
“Well, that’s up to you.”   
  
“Are you going to swim with me?” she asks, stepping away and watching as he rubs the sunblock up and down his arms.   
  
“In the ocean?” he asks, apprehensive. “Do you want me to? You have that much faith in my skills?”   
  
“In mine, maybe,” she teases. “You’ll be fine. We won’t go out far.”   
  
“We’ll play it by ear,” he decides. “Are you sure you don’t want any of this? I’d feel better if you did.”   
  
She’s sure, but she lets him put it on her anyway. They have to wait to get in the water, this way, but at least they’ll wait together. He never puts his shirt back on. She hesitates, but peels off her shirt, as well. The shorts stay on, because she feels better with them even though the swimming suit is all one piece and covers plenty, and they’ll probably dry up just fine. They did after they went in the lake.   
  
His eyes are firmly fixed on the ground when they head for the beach. Should she have left her top on?   
  
The beach is incredible. So much more water and so much more sand than she would have thought possible. She reaches for his hand and he lets her take it without hesitation.  
They walk along the shoreline this way, but he’s still acting shy.She’s almost afraid that she got the wrong swimming suit. That she’s made him uncomfortable, or something. He bends down and scoops something up, grinning.    
  
“Shark tooth,” he explains, passing it over to her. She turns it over a few times, holding it up to the light. She’s only ever learned about sharks in school.   
  
“You have sharks here?” she asks, glancing out at the water. There are tons of people swimming, and it makes her nervous.   
  
“Well, it’s not like that,” he says. “The teeth just wash up every now and then. Not attached to a shark, so you’re perfectly safe swimming here.”   
  
“Good to know,” she says.   
  
  
It doesn’t end up being useful. They make their way down the beach, far enough away from most of the crowd that they can be sort of alone, but lightning flashes in front of them and Peeta sighs.   
  
“We could see if maybe it’ll pass,” he offers. “It sounded pretty far away.”   
  
The thunder starts before he’s even finished offering to wait. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. Until the rain starts. She only feels a couple of drops, at first, but then it starts to fall in sheets, making it hard to see even a few feet in front of them. Peeta swears under his breath, something she hasn’t heard him do yet, and she steps back into her shoes. He pulls her in closely, and she thinks it’s probably because he doesn’t want her getting lost on the way back to the car. Or, maybe, he thinks it would be better for them to get lost together. Either way, she doesn’t disagree.  
   
He tries to say something, but it’s hard to hear him. She puts her hands over her ears, trying to signal this, and he nods. They’re both drenched by the time they reach the car, but he seems impatient while he tries to get the keys from the bag. Like hurrying is going to really help anything.   
Though, she is relieved when he manages to get the door open and help her into the car. The nice, dry, quiet car. She hits the unlock button when he comes around, so he can get right in. They look at each other for a moment, and then Peeta groans, his head falling back against the seat.   
  
“The _one_ day it decides to storm since you’ve been here, and of course, we’re at the beach for it,” he says. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I should have checked the weather.”   
  
He looks genuinely upset about it. Katniss rubs at her arms, trying to warm up. He notices, because he crawls most of the way over the center console and hands her the shirt he had been wearing earlier. It’s massive, but pretty soft. And it smells like the cologne he wears. She pulls it on.   
  
“It’s kind of funny,” she says, sort of smiling. And Peeta clearly doesn’t understand what she means. “Just . . . you know. Ironic.”   
  
He gives her a breathy little laugh, but it’s clearly forced. “It’s just that I wanted everything to be good today. You know?”   
  
She does know. But only because that’s how he’s been, she thinks, every day since she’s been here. He’s not only been spoiling her rotten, but there are more subtle things he’s been doing, too. Every part of his routine, down to the music he listens to in the car, has been specifically designed with her in mind. So she could be more comfortable. And while she knows that things would be much harder for her if Peeta wasn’t considerate all the time, she can’t help but to wonder how draining this must be for him.   
  
She can’t help herself. She reaches over and puts her hand on top of his, but she’s not sure why it matters so much to her that he knows she’s serious. She watches the rain out the front window. “Hey. Everything was good today,” she assures him. She’s a little disappointed about not being able to swim, but clearly not half as much as he is. “And it was good yesterday, and the day before.”   
  
“Katniss,” Peeta says, like he’s about to argue with her, but she won’t let him.   
  
“Nope. Low maintenance, remember?” she asks, and when she finally risks a glance over at him, he’s smiling. “A couple of cheese buns, a cup of hot chocolate, and I’m yours.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . what do we think of touchy-Katniss? Thanks to Gentlemama (and a day late happy birthday! :)) and Modernlifeofash and Swishywillow for beta/prereading and making sure I went through with the last scene. :)
> 
> Stop by and see me on Tumblr! I'm always accepting drabble prompts and always being pressured to turn them in WIPs. :)


	14. Chapter 14

It’s still storming when they get back to the apartment. She reluctantly gives Peeta his shirt back before they get out of the car, crawling into the back to get her tank top. He makes a comment about investing in an umbrella when he helps her out of the car.   
  
“Thank you,” she says. “But, you know, I don’t really mind getting rained on.”   
  
They still end up running to get the apartment, like they did to get to the car from the beach. He laces their fingers together. She might like holding his hand even more that way.   


They shower and change when they get inside. It’s clear that Peeta is still going to be upset about the rain for a while, so she suggests that maybe they can still do something.   
  
This gets his interest. He perks up a little bit.  “What do you want to do?” he asks. 

  
She doesn’t  want to watch TV, exactly. “Um, do you have a deck of cards?”   
  
He nods. “Sure. Just, like, regular, or for a special game?”   
  
“Just a regular deck,” she says. He digs through a hall closet, and it takes him a while, but he finds one.   
  
“What are we playing?” he asks, heading for kitchen. He sits down across from her, which is a weird change after all this time sitting side by side with him. She shrugs. 

“I’m okay with anything. Do you know any games?”

  
  
He teaches her a couple of different games. Her favorite is the one where they have to pair off the different cards. He’s a good teacher.   
  
“Hey, do you want anything to drink?” he asks between games.   
  
“Um, do you have more hot chocolate?” she asks. He laughs.   
  
“Yes, always,” he says, pushing the deck over to her before he stands up. “You pick the next game.”   
  
“Did you play a lot of cards?” she asks. “Growing up, I mean.”   
  
“Yeah,” he says. “Sort of. My brother and I all shared the same room growing up, so some nights, when we couldn’t sleep, we’d all sit on Dylan’s bed – he had the one closest to the window – and play cards in the streetlight, so we wouldn’t get caught with our light on.”   
  
She sort of smiles. She hadn’t thought there could ever be anything good about the lights at night.   
  
“And you? Did you play a lot?”   
  
“I wouldn’t say  _a lot_ ,” she says. “But if I was off and I couldn’t get to the woods for whatever reason, Prim and I would sit and play a game of Rummy or something.”   
  
“Rummy?” he asks, excited.

  
  
It’s clear that they’ve been taught to play differently. He’s an eager learner, though, and she’s glad to have something to teach him. Even though he does seem to be taking it a little bit too seriously. She tells him that it’s not such a big deal, but he insists.   
  
“I want to see how the Everdeens play,” he says. She likes the way he says  _Everdeen_. But then again, it’s been so long that she would probably like the way anyone says it. “And then I want to win.”   
  
She laughs. “And here I thought you were going easy on me. Letting me win.”   
  
He laughs. “Actually, you just so happened to marry a man that’s horrible at cards. We can make our own house rules, though.”   
  
“I don’t know if I’d say horrible,” she says.

“I should have pretended I was letting you win. Chivalry, and all that,” he says, grinning. “Though, I have a strong suspicion that you probably aren’t exactly the kind of girl that would like that.” 

“Probably not,” she agrees, and then leans in across the table a little bit before she adds, “keep trying, though. Maybe I’ll go easy on you.”    
  
“Don’t you dare.” 

  
  
  
She likes the sound of the thunder. It’s the same here as it was in District Twelve. When Peeta asks what she’s smiling about, she’s actually willing to own up to it. 

“My grandmother lives outside of the city,” Peeta admits. “So, since she’s not on the main power grid, she would lose power during storms, sometimes, if they were bad enough. For some reason, I always loved it when the lights would turn off.” 

  
She can’t relate to that, exactly. Electricity in District Twelve has always been sporadic at best. Especially in the Seam. “Why don’t you just turn the lights off?”   
  
He laughs. “I don’t know. It’s just sort of not the same thing. You know?”   
  
She shrugs. “So, it’s not always bright everywhere?”   
  
“Not when the power’s off,” he jokes. “No. Like, where Finnick and Annie live, or where my grandmother’s house is, it gets dark and quiet at night. It always seemed weird to me.”   
  
“There was a curfew in Twelve,” she admits. “You were supposed to be punished if you were out too late, but no one ever was. We didn’t have very strict Peacekeepers.” 

He smiles at her. She thinks that Peeta almost likes it more when she talks about District Twelve than his father does. It’s kind of funny to think about, but Twelve is about as foreign to him as the Capitol is to her.   
  
  
  
Somehow, after the beach, she’s always touching Peeta in some form or another. She tries to be subtle about it at first, holding his hand when they cross the street or after he’s helped her out of the car. When it’s obvious that Peeta doesn’t mind, she stops needing excuses.   
  
It turns out that it’s even better when he laces their fingers together. Even if, the first time Rye saw them like this, he smirked at Peeta. She didn’t want to know what that meant, really, so she didn’t ask   
  
She can relate to him, honestly, for wanting to know about how the Everdeens do things. She’s actually starting to like things at the bakery. Starting to like the way the Mellarks do things. Scarlett and Rye in particular, who they work with most of the time, are a lot of fun to be around.   
  
Rye teases Peeta a lot, and while it bothered Katniss at first, it’s starting to get funny. Especially with how well Peeta takes it. And Scarlett likes to tell stories about how her marriage with Rye was at the start. Peeta is always, always smiling at her for some reason or another, whether it’s because something is weird or funny or he likes the way she’s doing something.   
It’s nice.   
  
The next week at work, Scarlett finally convinces Katniss to leave her spot at Peeta’s side, at least every once in a while. She feels a lot more productive this way. Especially with how full of praise Peeta is at just the slightest amount of effort she puts into anything at the bakery.   
  
She’s not even that bad at it. She knows that it’s probably because Peeta, Scarlett, and Rye have been feeding her information every chance they’ve had, but she’s willing to take a little bit of credit for it. At least in letters to her sister.   
  
Peeta is working the front counter the day she’s trusted to make her own batch of rolls. She can’t help but to sort of wish that Peeta was here to see her. 

Rye and Scarlett, even though they’re not Peeta, are plenty supportive. She’s heading back from putting the sheet in the oven when Rye saves her.   
  
“Timer?” he asks, and she sprints back for the oven to set it. It’s taken a while to figure out how things work. Rye and Scarlett – like Katniss and Peeta – are a package deal. The elder Mellarks are not. They take turns back and forth, one parent on duty when the other one is off.   
  
Dylan exclusively works the days that his father works. Mrs. Mellark is in charge of the finances. Katniss had been afraid that she holed herself up in the side office because she disapproved of her. Peeta assured her that it wasn’t the case when she asked, and while it doesn’t make her think that his mother she likes her, exactly, it’s sort of a relief. 

“How are things with Peeta?” Scarlett asks when Katniss comes back to the stainless steel table where she's been working.  “Are you more comfortable?” 

  
“Yes,” Katniss answers, sort of surprising herself with her honesty. “He’s very kind.”   
  
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Scarlett says. “I’m glad you finally see it.”   
  
“Ugh, and he adores you,” Rye adds, and he says it like it’s something that’s annoying even though he’s smiling.   
  
He  _adores_ her. She finds herself smiling, too. She tells them about the beach, and when she gets to the part about Peeta’s disappointment over the rain, Rye laughs.   
  
“Yeah, that’s typical Peeta. He’s always been a perfectionist, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.”   
  
It’s sort of funny, talking about Peeta with his brother. She’s heard plenty about Rye and Dylan by now, but it’s strangely pleasant to hear stories about Peeta’s childhood from a different perspective.   


When the timer goes off, she remembers all of Peeta’s warnings about burns, and she’s sure that he’d be proud that she remembers to use a potholder before she even tries to take the tray out of the oven. Unfortunately, she’s in such a hurry that she doesn’t pull the door all the way open and her forearm ends up pressed against the hot metal of the door when she reaches in. 

  
The baking sheet clatters against the hard bakery floor, taking the rolls with it and scattering them. She bites down on her lip so hard that it hurts, trying to keep herself from crying. She’s not sure which part is more upsetting – the pain in her arm, or the rolls on the floor. 

Mrs. Mellark hears the commotion and is out of her office instantly, roaring at Katniss. Peeta comes rushing into the kitchen before she’s even finished calling her a  _stupid, stupid girl_. He sweeps Katniss behind him, as if he’s going to use his body to shield her from his mother’s words. He is _furious_. His fists are balled at his side, and he doesn’t let his mother finish. 

  
“Oh, be quiet!” he snaps.   
  
“All I want to know is who had the brilliant idea of putting her in charge of the oven,” Mrs. Mellark says. Katniss feels so, so guilty when she looks from Peeta to Rye. “What sort of bakery do you think we’re running here? We can’t just –” 

“I said to be  _quiet_ ,” Peeta says, says, interrupting again. Scarlett comes with an ice pack for Katniss’ arm. He takes it and when he turns to secure it, he’s all gentleness. She can tell he’s wondering what happened when he looks up at her, but she can’t help but to be relieved that he’s willing to stand up for her even if he doesn’t know what it’s about.  

  
“Dad gave her a job here, in case you forgot,” he adds, looking over his shoulder at his mother. “Take it up with him. We’re going home.”   
  
He leads her by the hand to the car. She says that she could stick it out through the rest of the day, but he shakes his head at her.   
  
“I am  _so_ sorry,” he says. “She’s horrible, and I never should have left you alone back there.”   
  
“No, it’s okay,” Katniss says. “It was my fault.”   
  
This gets him angry all over again. “It’s your fault you got hurt?” he asks. “That’s ridiculous.”   
  
She doesn’t have a response for this.   
  
He slams his fist against the steering wheel before he starts the car. “Ugh. I just –  _ugh._ I don’t have anything decent to say. I’m so sorry.”   
  
  
As soon as they get back to the apartment, he sets her up on the couch with a blanket and heads for the kitchen to get a fresh ice pack for her.   
  
Clearly, he’s not going to believe her that she’s okay just yet. And, when that fact comes with a mug of hot chocolate, she actually can handle it. His phone rings and rings and rings, but he doesn’t answer it until he’s in the kitchen to make lunch. 

  
She’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to hear the conversation that he’s having. But she hasn’t been able to find anything on TV so it’s quiet save for him talking. 

  
“I don’t care. Nope. I’ve made my position very clear. We won’t be back if she’s going to be there.”   
  
She feels guilty. With how much Peeta loves the bakery, she doesn’t want to be the reason he’s not there. 

“Yeah, you can tell her I said I don’t want her around my wife.” 

  
  
He doesn’t expect her to be in the kitchen when he hangs up. It’s been a while since the last time she startled him.   
  
“Um,” she says. “You don’t have to quit the bakery because of me.”   
  
He shakes his head. “Not quitting. We’re . . . rearranging some schedules.”   
  
“And if they don’t cooperate?” she asks carefully.   
  
“Then we’ll look for other employment. But I’m the best cake decorator they have. It would be a horrible decision if dad picked her over us.”   
  
“But he’s  _married_ to her,” Katniss presses.   
  
“That doesn’t mean he likes her.”   
  
She wonders if she’s supposed to feel that way about Peeta. Or if he’s supposed to feel that way about her. “Oh.”   
  
“It’ll be okay,” he says. “But I cannot  _believe_ she yelled at you like that. I’m just . . . I’m so mad, Katniss.”   
  
“I know,” she says. “It’s not that bad, though. The burn, I mean.”   
  
He frowns at her. She decides that it’s time to change the subject.   
  
“Did your father talk about Twelve a lot when you were a kid?” she asks.  
  
“Not when there was a chance my mother would hear him,” Peeta says. So much for changing the subject. “But, every now and then, yes. Like when he would drive me to school or I’d get up early to help him with something for the bakery.”   
  
“So . . . your mother didn’t like it. That’s why he didn’t get to write back home?”   
  
He nods. “Yeah. She’s . . . she’s a lot like what I think you were afraid I was going to be,” he says. “I mean, if I had my way, I’d keep you away from her forever.”   
  
“Forever?” she asks.   
  
He nods. “You have no idea how mad I was that night they crashed our dinner. Ugh. The comment about table manners –”   
  
“I think I have some idea,” she says. “But I’m over it. Like you said, you’re not like that, so . . .”   
  
“Beautiful, smart,  _and_ she’s willing to put up with my mother’s bigotry,” Peeta says, like he’s completely in awe of her. “I hope you realize how much I lucked out.”  
  
She sort of laughs.   


They spend the rest of the day on the couch. She’s starting to seriously doubt his judgment when it comes to TV shows. She doesn’t tell him that, though, because it’s not like she knows what she  _would_ like. And besides, she’s pretty content to just lie on the couch with Peeta. Her favorite position is with her head on a throw pillow in his lap and her legs curled up against the back of the couch.

  
  
The arm that rests on the armrest brushes up against her head sometimes when he repositions. She doesn’t mind. She becomes a little bit fixated on his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind. Not even when, during the second episode of the show, she angles herself almost all the way away from the TV and reaches a hand up, careful not to block his view, and touches his hair.   
  
He glances down at her, looking amused.   
  
“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice quiet. She’s not trying to be rude, exactly. Not  _trying_  to interrupt.   
  
He nods. She’s all too satisfied with the way her fingers disappear into his blond curls.   
  
  
By the fourth episode, he seems to think nothing of it when she turns and distracts herself with his hair.  She gets up to get a glass of water, and when she comes back, she perches on the armrest. This gives her a different angle to work with. Her hand starts to trail down the side of his head this time. She traces her fingers along the thick frame of his glasses all the way back to his ear, and he shudders when her hand reaches the smooth skin on his neck.   
  
Right. Her hands must be cold from the ice water. She’s about to pull her hand away and apologize when he turns to look at her with a barely contained smile. And then, suddenly, he’s  _there_. Closer than he’s ever been in halfway decent lighting. How has she never noticed the freckles that dot his nose and cheeks? 

 “Hey,” he says, his voice soft. She hasn’t even realized how close she moved to him, but she can feel his breath on her skin. It’s not half as even as it usually is. Good. Maybe her own shallow breathing won’t seem weird to him. 

  
“Hey,” she returns. Her forehead is practically touching his. “This okay?”   
  
He nods dumbly, frantically, and she surges forward, closing the small space between them. She can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. Especially when she reaches them forward to tangle in his hair. His lips are soft. Warm and sort of dry against hers. And his hands are gentle – so, so very gentle – when he guides her to come closer so she’s practically sitting in his lap. Like he thinks that if he holds her too tightly she’ll break.   
  
He lets out a little groan when she pulls away.   
  
“And that?” she whispers.   
  
“Katniss,” he says. “That was . . .”   
  
“Okay?” she supplies, half joking and half genuinely trying to figure out if maybe she’s ruined everything.   
  
He laughs, pulling her in for a second, third, and fourth kiss while he speaks. “That was so,  _so_ , so okay.”   
  
He’s beaming at her, and suddenly she’s laughing at the absurdity of it all. Because the TV is still playing behind her like something revolutionary hasn’t just happened here. Her hands are still in his hair.   
  
“Good,” she says.   
  
Peeta presses a kiss to the inside of her forearm, where he wrapped the bandage. It only serves to make her laugh more. 

It’s quiet for a while. She rests back against him again, trying to pretend like her heart isn’t pounding in her chest.

  
  
“So . . .” Peeta says, trailing off. She thinks he’s been at a loss for words more today than he has any other time since she’s been here. “I know you asked me. But . . . are you okay with what happened?”   
  
She nods. “Yeah. Definitely.”   
  
His hand comes down to play with her hair. She’s glad that she’s not the only one that isn’t paying attention to the show. “Good.”   
  
“Have you . . . have you done that before?” Katniss asks. She’s sort of relieved that she’s facing away from him.   
  
“Um, yeah. I have,” Peeta says.   
  
She’s not sure why the thought of Peeta kissing other girls gets to her, but it does. “I haven’t. Um, I’ve never done that before, I mean. You could probably tell, but . . .”   
  
He laughs. “You have no idea the effect you have, do you?”    
  
He gets a text before bed. It’s his father informing him that  _the tantrum worked_. She doesn’t feel right about it, still, but Peeta doesn’t really mind. If anything, he seems like he’s happy he’s won the argument.   
  
She doesn’t like to be the cause of it, but she doesn’t tell him that.   
  
He kisses her on the forehead that night before they fall asleep. She decides that this is something she could get used to.


	15. Chapter 15

She wakes them both up with the noise that she makes when she rolls over onto her injured arm. Peeta sits up instantly, and she can’t exactly see him in the dark, but it’s clear how concerned he is.  
  
“Katniss?” he asks. His voice is thick with sleep. She feels guilty for waking him up. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“It’s fine,” she says. “I just . . . hurt my arm again, I guess. But I’m fine now.”  
  
She feels the bed shift when he gets up. She’s not half as surprised as she should be when first the bedroom light and then the kitchen light turns on. She is taken back, though, by how sweet – if not predictable – it is when Peeta comes back in with a cup of water and more of the pain medicine he’s been giving her all day.  
  
“Thank you,” she says. “I feel bad. I keep waking you up.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” he assures her. Her nightmares really haven’t been that bad recently, but he’s been more than gracious about it when they’ve woken him up. “I just hate that this happened.”  
  
“I know you do,” Katniss says with a little smile. “But it’s not like it’s the worst I’ve ever had.”  
  
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asks.  
  
She has half a mind to show him the spot on her lower back. The scar from where she thought she had more room to get under the fence than she did. The thick wire scratched not only through her shirt, but also through a few layers of her skin. She doesn’t, though. She just shrugs and takes the pills.  
  
“But I guess it would explain why you’re so tough,” he continues. She hands the water back, and he finishes it off before he brings it to the kitchen again. She waits for him to come back before she settles in, and in the darkness, she doesn’t even feel strange about ending up with her head on his chest.  
  
She can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt. His arm wraps around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is. She’s not complaining.  
  
  
“So . . . what do you say we play hooky tomorrow?” he asks. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly counting down the minutes until we go back to the bakery.”  
  
She knows how much he loves the bakery. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll text Dad right now. It’ll probably be better, that way.”  
  
“So he’s mad at you – at us?” Katniss asks. She knows it’s probably not a question she should have asked. Hopefully by including herself she’s made it better.  
  
He laughs. “He’s mad at me, not you. And he’s gonna get over it. But, no, nobody will be heartbroken tomorrow when we don’t show.”  
  
“Peeta,” she says. “Please don’t ruin things with your family because of me.”  
  
“You _are_ my family,” he says, and that’s that.   
  
  
  
She grumbles when she wakes up, trying to push her face a little bit further into the pillow to block out the light. She’s met with resistance, though, because her pillow is actually Peeta’s chest. He’s on his back, so it’s much too flat to provide much space to hide in. She wants to pull away, to apologize, but she’s too far gone, and besides, Peeta rolls over onto his side. _Oh_. This is _much_ better, with her face hidden in his chest and her head on his arm.   
  
“Mm,” she groans. It’s supposed to be thanks, but she’s so tired that it doesn’t come out that way. Vaguely, she hears Peeta chuckle. He sounds tired, too.  
  
  
  
When she wakes up for good, Peeta is still sleeping. She props herself up on one elbow, sure that more movement will alert him to her presence – and, okay, maybe she’s enjoying the warmth that being pressed up against his chest provides.   
  
She can’t exactly make out his face, even from this vantage point, so she drops back down and closes her yes. Should she be thinking about that kiss so much? And for that matter, should just the thought of the kiss make her smile this wide? She’s going to have to cut that out before Peeta gets up, or else she’ll have some explaining to do.   
For now, though, she just holds her hand to her cheek and feels the grin underneath for a moment.   
  
  
  
Once they’re finished getting ready for the day – together as usual, even if it is strange to have a usual with Peeta – he gets to work on what must be the biggest breakfast she’s had since she’s been here. She smells bacon nearly as soon as she steps out of the shower. By the time she’s dressed and in the kitchen, he’s working on something completely different on a contraption beside the stove.  
  
Griddle cakes, she determines. She wants to make some sort of a joke. Wants to ask if this is him trying to thank her for the kiss or to make the burn on her wrist better. But then he turns to look at her, and he’s so _happy_ that she can’t.  
  
“It smells lovely,” she says. “Is there anything I could do to help?”  
  
  
He considers this for a moment. She’s almost surprised. He barely lets her do any housework. She has to hurry and make the bed before he gets out of the shower in the morning, because she’s certain he would try to stop her if he saw it happening with an “ _Oh, no, I can do that_.”  
  
It’s his line of choice. For when she tries to help him load the dishwasher, or when she asks if he has laundry to put in the wash. Sometimes she’ll manage to set the table, but that doesn’t stop him from trying his hardest to have it done before she comes out.  
  
“If you wouldn’t mind getting two glasses of orange juice for us, that would be great,” he answers. She feels all too proud of herself for being able to do this. For being trusted to do this.  
  
“Not at all,” she says.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” Peeta asks, turning back to the pancakes.  
  
“Once I stopped moving so much, I did,” she answers. He nods. “What about you?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “It was great.”  
  
Once the cups are on the table, she finally gets her nerve. “So . . . are you spoiling me because of the burn? Because it’s really not that bad.”  
  
For a long, horrible moment, it’s silent.  
  
“I’m genuinely offended that you think I’m spoiling you because you got hurt.” Her stomach clenches, mind already racing with ideas of ways she could make this better. Peeta turns to look at her again, probably only so that she can see the hand he’s holding to his heart. He’s grinning. She shouldn’t be half as relieved as she is. “Honestly, Katniss. Do you still think I need a _reason_ to spoil you?”  
  
She smiles, hoping he doesn’t notice the sigh that escapes with it. Of course he wouldn’t be upset with her. She’s starting to doubt that it’s possible to upset him. Except, of course, for his mother. Maybe it’s just different with her. “Should’ve known. At least I could understand why you’re doing it if that was the case.”   
  
He gets back to work. “Well,” he begins, his voice quiet. “I want you to be happy here. And if – well, if that can be accomplished for at least a couple of seconds when I give you a glass of orange juice or a couple of pieces of bacon in the morning, then that’s what’s gonna happen.”  
  
 “Oh.”  
  
She wants to make him feel better, somehow. Wants to say that she is happy here, and while it’s not a lie – and she’s definitely not _un_ happy here – something tells her that he won't quite believe her anyway. That this isn't the best time to bring it up.  
  
“What are we doing today?” he asks. “It’s up to you. I got the go-ahead for the day off, so, if you want to go somewhere . . .”  
  
“No,” she says. “I want to stay here, I think. See something you like to do.”  
  
“Something I like to do,” he repeats. “Okay. Like what?”  
  
She has to think about it for a moment while he goes back to cooking. He actually starts on scrambled eggs and she wonders if she’ll have room to eat everything. She smiles when she comes up with her answer. “Could I . . .? Would you mind showing me your drawings?” she asks.  
  
He’s so pleased with this that she’s certain it was the right idea. Of course, he pretends to be shy about the drawings, but he talks about them while they eat breakfast, his leg bouncing up and down nervously when she asks what his favorite thing to draw with is.  
  
She learns that he prefers to paint, but that there’s a certain brand of colored pencils that he’s really passionate about.  
  
“Do you ever draw?” he asks, eager, as always, to make the conversation about her again.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Never?” he asks.  
  
“Never,” she confirms. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. But I like to look at it.”  
  
That’s sort of a lie. Art isn’t particularly useful, so she had no interest in it at all in District Twelve. But in the Capitol, where she doesn’t ever have to wonder whether or not they’re having dinner – just what they’ll be having and if she’ll _like_ it – she might like looking at art. She’s always impressed with the sunset that he has hanging on his wall. And it makes him plenty happy to hear that she’s interested in it.  
  
“Well, I can show you how, sometime,” he offers. “I mean, I’ve got plenty of supplies. You might like it.”  
  
“Let’s start with yours,” she says. “Do you have the one you were working on at the lake?”  
  
He nods. “It’s not finished, though. I haven’t had time to finish the shading.”  
  
“Can I see it anyway?”  
  
“Right now?”  
  
“You can eat first,” she says when she realizes that he’s being serious. He takes well to being laughed at. Or, at least, she doesn’t think he’s smiling down at his eggs because he’s enjoying the food that much.  
  
  
  
No matter how excited he is, Peeta also seems a little bit nervous for her to see the sort of things he draws. They end up sitting on the bedroom floor, the couple of feet between them littered with loose papers and sketchbooks.  
  
He keeps alternating from examining her while she tries to look at some drawings to refusing to look anywhere near her while she looks at others. There are a lot of sunsets, sort of like the canvas he has in the living room. They aren’t all finished. Some aren’t even colored in all the way.  
  
“I draw other things, I promise,” he says with a shy little laugh.  
  
She reaches for one of the sketchbooks, hesitating so that she can make sure it’s okay. Peeta nods, and she pulls it into her lap.  
  
These ones are, for the most part, finished. Shaded in and signed in the bottom corner with a tiny little PM. There are a few of them that she can’t exactly place. The ones that she recognizes are impossible to miss. Like the Capitol skyline. Or what must be what the bakery’s storefront looks like through the glass window.  
  
“Peeta, these are incredible,” she says.  
  
“Thank you,” Peeta says, smiling. “And before I forget, the one you asked about should be in . . . this one,” he says, sliding the small one towards him. She only goes through a couple of pages before she finds the one she’s looking for. It must be a newer sketchbook.  
  
“It isn’t finished,” Peeta warns again. She supposes that it isn’t, really. The hair is a little bit more detailed on one side than the other, and not all of her features look completely finished, but it’s striking. And it does look like her. Head tilted down, lips pursed in concentration, but she doesn’t look angry.  
  
“No one has ever drawn me before,” she says. “This is . . .”  
  
“Never?” he asks. “I’d like to do it more, if you’d let me. Start over. Or finish this one, I guess.”  
  
It’s almost entertaining, seeing him so nervous. “Okay,” she says. “Right now?”  
  
They don’t have anything better to do, so they sit in the living room. Just like when he started the drawing, she works on a letter to her sister. She uses the armrest of the couch to balance her pad on, but that means she has to be much further away from Peeta than she’s really used to, at this point.  
  
At first, she doesn’t want to tell Prim about the incident at the bakery. But then, when she starts to write about how things at the bakery are going, the story spills out anyway. This will probably help Prim, if all the questions about Peeta are any indication of her doubt. If this doesn’t tell her about what kind of a man Peeta has shown himself to be, nothing will.  
  
She keeps the part with the kiss to herself. Wants that to be something between the two of them, at least for now. Though, she’s starting to wonder when – if ever – Peeta is going to want to talk about the kiss. Or do it again. He had said that she was good, or implied it, at least, with the comment about her not knowing the effect that she had on him. And he had said it was okay. So, _so_ , so okay, if she remembers correctly.  
  
But it wouldn’t have been out of character for him, exactly, to be too kind to her. To try to spare her feelings.  
  
  
“Hey,” Peeta says, pulling her out of her reverie. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“What?” she asks. “Nothing.”  
  
“I’m not trying to pry,” Peeta says. “It’s just, I know how happy it usually makes you to write a letter back, and you haven’t put anything down in a while. And you look upset.”  
  
“Oh,” she says. “No. Not upset. Just thinking.”  
  
“You can talk to me,” he reminds her gently. “I’m not going to get mad.”  
  
“It was . . . I was thinking about last night,” she admits. She stops there, though, because she’s not exactly eager to embarrass herself.  
  
He hums, considering this. “What part?”  
  
“The kissing part,” she whispers back. She half expects him to laugh at her, but he doesn’t.  
  
“I see,” he says. “So . . . is this something we should talk about? I feel like it is, but I also feel like we might not get very far if you don’t want to. Because – and I say this with the utmost affection – you’re stubborn as hell, sometimes.”  
  
The utmost affection. He says it so casually, too. Maybe that’s what spurs her on. “Why haven’t you said anything about it?”   
  
“About the kiss?” he asks. She nods. “Oh. Well, I know you said you were comfortable with it last night, but since you didn’t mention it, I thought, maybe you need more time.”  
  
“So, you weren’t . . .” she clears her throat.  
  
His eyes are trained on her. She looks back down at the letter, not liking having his full attention.  
  
“You weren’t disappointed,” she continues, the words almost just mouthed, they’re so silent.  
  
“No! Of course not!” Peeta says. She should probably think he’s a little bit too eager, but she’s relieved to hear it. “No. No. I have thought about that an insane amount of times today. Wondered what I could do to make that happen again,” he laughs shyly. “That sounded lame.”  
  
“No,” she says. “Not lame.”  
  
She looks over at him just in time to see a grin spread across his face. Like he’s thrilled she said that.  
  
“You do want to do it again, then,” she guesses. He reaches over and takes her hand, rubbing at the back of it with his thumb.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
She swallows hard. “Okay. Good.”  
  
“Does that make you feel better?” he asks. “Because . . . you know, we are married, Katniss. You can kiss me any time you feel like it.”  
  
This makes her laugh. He’s still holding her hand. That’s what he’s focused on the next time he speaks.  
  
“Hey, just . . . while we’re talking, is that weird for you?” he asks. “That we’re married? Because – I don’t know. I just keep thinking, like, if anything, you would be my girlfriend. And somehow,” Peeta laughs, “somehow you’re my wife.”  
  
Somehow. Katniss knows exactly how. She doesn’t say that, though. “A little,” she agrees. He glances up at her. “A lot.”  
  
He smiles. “Okay. Okay, I’m just glad to have that out there.”  
  
“That’s it’s weird?” she asks, not sure why she’s suddenly feeling so bold. “Or that I can kiss you?”  
  
This makes him laugh, but it’s a strange, breathy one that she’s fairly certain is because he’s uncomfortable. “Either. Both,” he answers. “Whichever.”  
  
Her heart is racing. She almost hates herself for letting him get to her like this. For making her so anxious, even if it’s a good kind. Half of her wants to kiss him as soon as he says this. But she doesn’t. She just holds onto his hand and moves the pad down so she can balance it in her lap and get at least a little bit closer to him. She steals glances down to the drawing every now and then. The girl that the sketch is turning into – shimmering, elegant, lovely – is starting to look a little bit less like her. Is that what he thinks she looks like? She doesn’t ask, because she’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to see it right now.   
  
Instead, like she does at the bakery, she focuses on him. He’s taking the drawing seriously, she thinks. She’s never seen him concentrate on something this much.   
  
“Pizza for dinner?” he asks, finally looking up at her. He clearly doesn’t mind that she’s been staring at him.  
  
“Is this because you’re spoiling me?” she ask quietly. She doesn’t mean to smile the way she does, but it just happens.   
  
He laughs. “Depends on if you want it or not.”   
  
The air feels a little bit funny between them. She’s not sure what it is. Should she have something clever to say?   
  
“I do,” she admits. They’ve only had it once since she’s been here, and she actually did really enjoy it.  
  
“Great. And you get to experience it cold in the morning,” he says.  
  
“Cold?” she asks.  
  
“It’s – arguably – the best way to eat pizza. You’ll see.”  
  
  
Pizza, it turns out, is the only food Peeta is content to eat on the couch. Everything else, they eat at the table. But tonight, just like the last time he ordered in, they sit in the living room.  
  
He actually manages to find something he thinks she’ll like. It’s one he hasn’t shown her yet, and they have to watch the last few minutes of another show before it comes on. He sighs when the title sequence comes on.  
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“It’s . . . it’s set in Twelve. I forgot. I’m going to see if there’s –”  
  
“Leave it on,” she demands when he reaches for the remote. “I want to see.”  
  
“It’s just a sitcom,” he warns. “And I’m sure it’s really inaccurate.”  
  
It is. So inaccurate that it makes her laugh. The hairstyles, the clothes, everything is so fake. So Capitol. So . . . “They’ve never actually been to Twelve, have they?” Katniss asks when she’s finished laughing.  
  
Peeta is beaming at her. Is he pleased that she thinks this is funny?   
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just awesome.”  
  
She takes another bite of pizza before she responds, because she’s not sure what to say. “I’m just less fragile than you think.”  
  
“Oh, definitely,” Peeta says. “But you’re also awesome.”  
  
Once they’re finished eating and the food has been put away, she ends up with her head in his lap again. He’s the one to play with her hair, tonight.  
  
“So . . . any time I feel like it?” she asks, glancing up at him.  
  
He nods solemnly. “Any time you feel like it,” he confirms.  


* * *

  
  
She’s not too eager to go back to the bakery in the morning. Probably because of how nice yesterday was. Peeta doesn’t seem all that excited, either. In fact, when they get finished brushing their teeth, he comes back out to the bed and flops down onto it, face first. His sleeping shirt rides up his back a little bit, exposing the skin there.  
  
“What?” she asks, sitting down beside him.  
  
He groans. “I’m trying to think of a way to ask you if you’re sure you want to go without sounding like I doubt that you meant it when you said you did.”  
  
“That all?” she asks, a little amused.  
  
“Because you can stay here. No one would fault you for it if–”  
  
“I want to go,” she assures him. “I like it. Working with you.”  
  
This makes him smile. “Really?”  
  
Did he not think she would ever like it? Or, after yesterday, is he just glad to have confirmation? “Yeah,” she says. “Really.”  
  
  
He doesn’t try to talk her out of it again. But, when they’re in the bakery parking lot, hands clasped together, he does ask if she’s ready.  
  
She considers this for a moment, and then stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses him once. It’s a small, short kiss, but the grin that spreads across his face is neither.  
  
“Now I am,” she announces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gentlemama for betaing!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy six month anniversary! Thanks for sticking it out with this fic so far :)

Mr. Mellark doesn’t seem particularly happy to see them. Maybe Peeta was onto something, suggesting that she stay home. Would things be more comfortable for him if she did? Dylan and his father – who have both been particularly quiet since they made their way back to the kitchen – look first at each other and then at Peeta.  
  
“We’re going to go up front,” he announces. She squeezes his hand as best she can with the way that their fingers are laced together.  
  
She doesn’t like working the front very much. Not that she would tell him that, because she’s nearly certain that he’s never going to leave her alone again. Least of all here.  
  
So she stands by his side. Holds his hand under the counter for a good part of the first hour. Answers yes when he asks if she’s doing okay. Thankfully, she’s not expected to make too much small talk. If he knows the customer, he’ll introduce her as his wife, and sometimes, if they seem to think she’s worthy of it, they’ll shake her hand. But it’s a Tuesday, and after the morning rush is over, things get slow. Usually, they would go into the back. Work on something until the bell would ring and Peeta would hurry out to help whoever it was.  
  
Today, though, they just stay out there. She leans against the counter, and he watches her for a long moment, biting his bottom lip.  
  
“What?” she asks, suddenly self conscious. Should she not be leaning?  
  
“Nothing,” he says. “Just thinking about how boring this must be for you.”  
  
“I’m fine. Better than the mines,” she assures him. She wonders if he knows what a low bar that it is when he smiles.  
  
“Oh, but come on, you can’t tell me that when you imagined switching over to the fast paced life of the Capitol, this is what you pictured.”  
  
“Trust me. Prim will be glad to hear that we stood around and waited for customers today,” she says.  
  
“So . . . she’s still worried about you?” he asks.  
  
She realizes how bad that must make him feel and regrets saying anything. “She doesn’t know you,” she informs him gently. “Has no reason to trust you, other than what I tell her.”  
  
It isn’t until he smiles that she realizes what she’s just implied. She doesn’t backtrack, but it does make her think. _Does_ she trust him?  
  
“Well, I’ll have to win her over next, somehow,” Peeta says. “Get all the Everdeen girls on my side.”  
  
“Won’t be that hard,” Katniss says. “Just keep being nice to me. She’ll hear about it.”  
  
He laughs. “I’ll have to make sure I’m always on my best behavior, then.”  
  
“Are you not already?” she teases. “Am I going to have to tell my sister about this?”  
  
  
The day isn’t actually all that bad. They get to be alone, save for the occasional customer, and while it’s not quite as enjoyable as their day playing hooky, it’s nice enough.  
  
“I’ll try to get us back on baking duty  tomorrow,” he promises a couple hours in. “Even if Dad and Dylan both have to come up here.”  
  
She shakes her head. “This isn’t the worst.”  
  
“Not the worst?” Peeta asks.  
  
“I can stick it out,” she assures him. Even though _stick it out_ is an understatement.  
  
  
She’s no help when he makes dinner. She always feels particularly useless this time of day, so she just sits at the dinner table while he chops vegetables for a salad and pretends like she isn’t watching him.   
  
“I found a store we can get your bow from,” he informs her. Casually, like this isn’t amazing news.  
  
“Peeta!” she says. There’s no point in asking him if he means it, because he surely wouldn’t joke about something like this. She knows that much for certain.  
  
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he continues.  
  
“Thank you,” she says, before he has the chance to go much further. He shakes his head.  
  
“Actually, it turns out I know next to nothing about archery, but I did my research and I think I found one that –”  
  
She uses her hunter’s tread to her advantage, partially because she might need it later but mostly because she knows that there’s no way he’s going to let her thank him if she does it any way. He notices her only when she comes to stand beside him, but she’s close enough anyway. So she kisses him on the cheek.  
  
She can feel him grin before she even pulls away. “I think you need to learn to believe me when I thank you.”  
  
He laughs. “Yes ma’am.”  
  
“I’m going to teach you,” she announces. The idea only just hitting her. “If you don’t know how to shoot, I mean. I could try to teach you if you want me to.”  
  
“I’d love for you to teach me,” he assures her. “Which reminds me – I need to get you in the water again soon.”  
  
She doesn’t want to go back to the table. She wants to stay here. So she tries not to think about it too much and just washes her hands. “What can I do?” she asks.  
  
He puts her in charge of chopping the carrots. They stand a little closer than is probably entirely necessary.  
  
“You’re good at that,” he says. And he’s so serious that she laughs. “Did you cook a lot in Twelve?”  
  
“I wasn’t good at it,” she admits. “But I was the cook until Prim got old enough.”  
  
“Don’t worry. I’ll put you to work. I should’ve known, with how much of a natural you’ve been at the bakery.”  
  
It’s amusing, how impressed he is with her. For a moment, she wonders what sort of other girls he’s dated, but for some reason, it’s not very funny to think about that.  
  
  
  
They go to the sporting goods store right after they get off of work the next day. She’s actually glad that they were up front again, because it means that they’re not dirty from the flour or sweaty from the hot ovens.  
  
Plus, it’s only afternoon. She only wishes Scarlett and Rye could work the morning shift with them. That would make it perfect.  
  
  
The store isn’t particularly busy, which is good, because she’s close to being overwhelmed as it is. The store is packed with all sorts of things. Fishing poles. Camping gear. It takes her a moment to find the corner with the archery equipment, but when she does, she drags Peeta with her. He doesn’t seem to mind. He actually looks a little amused.  
  
“Can I help you?” an employee asks. He’s tan, but doesn’t exactly look like he’s from District Twelve.  
  
It’s quiet for a moment. Peeta is probably waiting for her to say something. She finds the man off-putting, though, and the bows are much more interesting. And the arrows. All identical and perfect, with different sorts of feathers on them that she’s sure aren’t real.  
  
“I called earlier this week about finding a bow for my wife,” Peeta announces.  
  
“This her?” the man asks. “Small little thing, isn’t she? What kinda bow are you used to, Sweetheart?”  
  
She doesn’t like to be called Sweetheart. She wonders if it would be different coming from Peeta. She explains her father’s bow the best that she can, though. He puts a couple of different bows in her hands. Lets her feel the weight of them. Peeta takes pictures of her with them on his phone, claiming it’s so they can make an informed decision later.  
  
She and Peeta take turns asking the man questions. Peeta takes down the name of a couple of different places where she’ll be able to shoot targets, and they talk about where she could hunt. The price seems high to Katniss, but Peeta hands over his little card without complaint. The cashier explains about how they can’t take it home right away, and Peeta is apologetic about it, but she understands enough.   
  
The bow should be at the apartment in a matter of days, anyway. And it should be sized just right.   
  
There’s a letter waiting for her when they get back. She sits in the bed, excited, and reads what her sister has to say. The envelope is thicker than usual, but it’s a pretty basic letter. Talking about District Twelve and working as a healer and memories of them being children. Until the end.  
  
Gale gave me this for you. I tried really hard not to read it.  
  
Prim has mentioned Gale a few times, but only briefly, to say that he’s doing well, or that she’s told him a little bit about how Katniss is doing. The letter is different from the paper Prim has been writing on. It’s scrawled, instead, on the bakery paper he must get from his trades.  
She swallows hard and glances over at Peeta, where he sits beside her, book in his lap. He’s particularly good at letting her have space to read, especially with all of the letters she’s been sending and receiving. She’s actually started numbering them, because it’s not uncommon to get a letter before there’s even a response to the one Katniss sent back.  
  
 _Hey Catnip.  
Hope I don’t get you in trouble by writing this. But Prim says you like the guy enough. I’m trying hard to trust your judgment. He can’t be a total asshole, right? Even if he did have to order a wife.  
  
Prim brought bakery bread over not too long after you left – maybe a day or so. A real loaf. Fresh from the bakery, with nuts and raisins in it. I’ve never seen the kids so happy in my life. Especially not after the year we’ve been having. Hell, I was happy. Haven’t been able to take down a decent squirrel in a while. I even pretended I didn’t know what it meant, at first. But then Posy asked where you were, and it was pretty much over.  
  
Prim is doing well. I’m pretty sure you know that, based on all the letters she’s been sending you. But I know I’d want a second opinion, if it were me. She misses you, obviously, but I almost wish you could see her face when a new letter comes in. Like it’s her birthday and New Years rolled into one. Like she’s small again.  
  
I’m doing okay, too. Had a hell of a time explaining why I was suddenly trading alone. Sae misses you. Said there’s probably no wild dog stew in the Capitol, but a girl like you won’t have a problem finding something to eat there. That’s all Prim will really tell me – that you like the food and don’t hate your husband. She keeps the rest to herself. I don’t blame her.  
I’m running out of space. But I miss you, even if I understand why you did what you did. The woods are different now.  
  
\- Gale.  
_  
She reads it twice, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s crying until Peeta’s hand reaches over to rest on her arm. She lets out a shuddering breath and turns to face him.  
  
“It’s my hunting partner,” she admits before she’s even sure this is something she wants to share with him. “He had my sister send a letter for him.”  
  
“Oh?” he asks. He doesn’t seem to mind this at all. “And it made you homesick?”  
  
She shakes her head. Because that’s not exactly the case. “She bought bread,” she tries to explain. He’s clearly confused.  
  
“Your hunting partner?” he asks.  
  
She shakes her head.“My sister. She bought bread. And she shared it.”  
  
It’s obvious that he doesn’t know just how important this is. She thinks of how lean things were the fall that led to her signing up. It was the hardest one they’ve ever had. It might have even been worse than the winter after her father died, because at least she was trying, this time. She was trying so hard. Picking up extra shifts at the mines and spending the hours before and after in the woods until she was nearly too tired to make the trip back to the Seam. It was excruciating work, all of it.  
  
Prim tried to urge her to take the day off every now and then. To at least get a good few hours of sleep. But she refused. The hunger was taking a toll on everyone. So she tried to push through it. Tried to hide it when she got sick. But it got colder and colder, and there was less she could do to keep it from her sister.  
  
It didn’t work. Prim saw right through her, after a while, and she and her mother refused to let her leave the house. Made her drink herbal teas and other concoctions. Threw around diagnoses like pneumonia. But they were wrong. Katniss survived. But she missed enough work that they were even further behind by the time she was cleared to return to work. So that day, after her shift, she told Gale she wanted to change before they headed for the woods. And she did change and clean herself up, but she made another stop before she met him out beyond the fence. She went to the Justice Building.  
  
She doesn’t like to think about that, though. Not in this house full of food. So she certainly doesn’t want to talk about it. But it is clear that however much money he spent on her must be a small fortune for her family. She leans forward and hugs him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers.  
  
“I’m not sure what to say you’re welcome for,” Peeta jokes, brushing through her hair with his fingers. “But I won’t complain.”  
  
  
She tells him about Gale during dinner that night. She doesn’t really realize that it’s something she probably shouldn’t tell him until she’s already halfway through the story of how they met in the woods.  
  
“This is probably boring you,” she says.  
  
“Definitely not,” he assures her. To his credit, he doesn’t act like he’s jealous. Just like he’s curious. Of course, he’s curious. She’s managed to pretty much avoid everything that has to do with District Twelve since she’s been here.  
  
“Oh. Well, he was my best friend after that.”  
  
“What does he think of all of this?” Peeta asks.  
  
She laughs, thinking of Gale’s appraisal of Peeta. “Um, I think he’s trying to get used to the idea. He’s always hated everything about it a lot more than I did, though.”  
  
“More?” he asks. “So . . . you hated it in the first place?”  
  
This conversation is getting less and less fun. “Not as much as he did.”  
  
Thankfully, he leaves it at that. He isn’t sullen for the rest of the night, but she keeps going back to the conversation in her mind, wondering what she should have said differently.  
  
  
She ends up sleeping, somehow, much closer to Peeta than she thought possible. More like when they were in the sleeping bag, where there wasn’t enough room for the both of them to sleep on their backs. Most of the time, when she knows she’ll be up for a little while, she lies facing away from him with his arm draped over her middle. But he stays where he always is, on his side. Her back fits against his chest perfectly, but she always wakes up facing the other way for some reason or another.  
  
“I don’t know how I ever made it through the night without you,” Peeta informs her that night, his lips practically pressed into her hair.  
  
“Why not?” she asks.  
  
It’s quiet. Like maybe he didn’t think she was awake. “Not sure,” he answers. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Okay?”  
  
She nods.  
  
“Good night, Katniss,” he says.  
  
  
She’s determined, in the morning, to do something nice. So she convinces him to take the first shower, and once the sheets are off of the bed – he does the sheets on Wednesdays, like clockwork – she sneaks into the kitchen. Only, she hasn’t done much cooking with him before last night. She finds more little boxes in the cabinet, though, like they ate the cereal from when they went camping, so she pours them into bowls and sets them out on the table.  
  
He’s thrilled, even though it feels silly when she thinks about it. He actually wraps his arms around her for the effort. “Thank you,” he says.  
  
She nods.  
  
“Scarlett and Rye got moved to the morning shift with us,” he announces when she comes back after changing.  
  
“What about your parents?” she asks.  
  
“They’re both on the afternoon shift with Dylan.”  
  
“Oh,” she says. “I feel like I threw off your whole schedule.”  
  
“Trust me, Katniss, no one is complaining,” he says. She wonders if he would tell her even if they were upset with her. “Dylan is my mother’s favorite, anyway.”  
  
“What about you?” she asks.  
  
“My favorite?” he asks. “That’s a tough one.” It takes a second for her to realize that he’s teasing her. “No, I’m not complaining, either.”  
  
She feels bad knowing that this means that Dylan will have to work alone with Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, but it’s nice to be back in the kitchen, so she tries not to focus on that.  
  
Rye is the one to take counter duty. She’s relieved that she won’t have to volunteer, because she’s had enough of that for the week. This is much better, anyway, only being expected to socialize with Peeta and Scarlett. Getting to have little stolen moment with Peeta.   
  
“I hope it wasn’t too bad for you guys, working alone with her,” she says. Peeta frowns.  
  
“Oh! No, it’s fine,” Scarlett says. “She ran the counter.”  
  
Peeta works on a cake order, and she gets to help Scarlett with the bread. She’s even trusted to run the ovens, again.  
  
“How have you guys been doing?” Scarlett asks. “It feels like it’s been forever.”  
  
“We’ve been good,” she answers. The kisses feel like something sort of secret between them. She can tell Peeta feels the same way, because he’s smiling when she glances over at him. Scarlett smiles, too. Like she can tell that something is different.  
  
She doesn’t say anything, though. Katniss forgot how much she likes Scarlett.  
  
  
“I guess we’re obvious,” Peeta says on the way back to the car. It takes her a moment to realize what he’s talking about.  
  
“I guess so,” she says. She doesn’t know if she minds it a lot, Scarlett catching on. But she is glad that they’re alone when they see the package waiting for them at the apartment. Glad that there’s no one other than Peeta to see the bounce in her step.  
  
  
He drives her to a huge building that seems to be made for this sort of thing and signs them up. He informs her, when she signs her name that this means they can come back whenever she wants.  
  
They’re given a lot of space. The room goes back particularly far, and the floor is marked with different distances from the target.  
  
“I’m aiming for the center circle?” she asks, nodding towards the target. There are a few more circles than the ones her father would mark on trees when he taught her. She’d prefer to try and teach Peeta in the woods, but she’ll try to figure out how it works here.  
  
“Yep,” he says. She’s uncomfortable, being watched. Especially after she lets the arrow fly, and it lands an embarrassing foot or so to the right of the target. The bow is different from what she’s used to, even if it did look the same. It’s strung more tightly. And the arrows are weighted differently. She doesn’t look over at him, because she doesn’t want to see what he thinks. Instead, she just shoots another one, and another one.  
  
She finally gets one near the center, and smiles in victory. Thankfully, Peeta doesn’t expect his lessons to start right away. Instead, he just watches, like he’s in awe of her.  
  
“Thank you,” she tells him. She’s said this a good five times already, from when she opened to the box to when he signed up for the membership. This is what she’s going to write back to Gale about, she decides. This is what he’ll like to hear about.  
  
“Of course,” he says. “It’s kind of amazing to see you in action.”  
  
They stay out late. He gets them hamburgers on the way back, but they’re not as good as the first ones.  
  
  
She’s starting to wonder why it is, exactly, that it’s so much easier to speak to him at night. Maybe because she doesn’t have to look at him. See his reaction.    
   
“Peeta?” she asks.  
  
He sort of laughs. She wonders if she’s getting predictable. “Yes?”  
  
“Is it okay if I ask why you ordered me?”  
  
There. Now she’ll know one way or another. He hesitates, and she’s about to take it back when he finally speaks. “What do you mean?” Peeta asks. She doesn’t answer. She can’t believe she just asked him that. “Like, you in specific? Or . . .”  
  
He laughs when he realizes she’s stubborn enough to stay quiet. “I guess I’ll try and answer both. You’re gorgeous, is the easy answer. That and what I told you before, about wanting to make you smile.”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to get you to compliment me,” Katniss says.  
  
He shrugs. “You asked. I answered. Now, for the more general answer, it’s sort of . . . I don’t know. Just, a lot of things. That’s not very specific, I know,” he murmurs.  
  
This makes her smile. It’s not that she likes to see Peeta get nervous, exactly, but it is nice to know that they’re on a level playing field at least some of the time.  
  
“So, okay, I’ll skip over the whole Glimmer thing, since you already know that story.” She makes a face at the name, grateful that he can’t see her,  both because of the dark and how she’s facing away from him. “I spent a long time moping and stuff. Not just about her, but sort of everything. And my mom started getting on my case. Saying I wasn’t getting any younger and that if I was going to settle down, now would be the time, before all the good girls were taken.”  
  
“Oh,” she says. Peeta certainly isn’t old. People in Twelve got married out of necessity. There were only so many good years you could bank on. But here. . . “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay. I’m not telling you so you’ll be sorry. But, yeah, she gave me a catalogue for my birthday.”  
  
“The registry?” she guesses. Maybe she can make things easier if he doesn’t have to say everything.  
  
“Yeah. And I was offended, at first. Not because I have anything against it – I mean, Scarlett had been here for a good two years, at first point, and she’s great. But just . . . I don’t know. It felt like she was saying that, with my leg and everything, that was my only option.”  
  
She can tell just how hard this is for him, so she rolls over until her face is pressed into his chest and then, feeling almost like that isn’t enough, she tries to hug him. Her hand rests on his back.   
  
“What changed?” she asks, her voice muffled.  
  
He pulls back a little bit to look at her. “Well, I kept the catalogue around. Because those things cost, like, fifteen bucks, and I didn’t want to waste it. But I pretty much just kept it around so I could get offended by it. And then . . .” he pauses. Moves back in a little bit closer and messes with her hair for a moment. “Scarlett asked me what was stopping me, and I didn’t really have a good answer.”  
  
“Hmm,” she says.  
  
“But I don’t want you to think I just rushed home and placed an order. I mean, you were not a decision I took lightly, Katniss. But it was gonna be you from the moment I saw you,” he murmurs.   
  
This is getting to be a little bit too much. Even though she was the one to ask. There’s so much she wants to tell him. That his mother was wrong. That she’s sure, if he wanted to, he could have married someone from here. She doesn’t, though.  
  
“Thank you for telling me,” she says instead.  
  
He drops a kiss into her hair. “Mm.”  
  
“Do I owe you a few answers?” she asks, because she wants to lighten the mood, but it’s late, so she’s not too surprised when she feels him shake his head.  
  
“I think we’re good. We can talk more in the morning.”  
  
She wonders if he’ll really want to. Or if she will, for that matter. But that doesn’t matter, exactly, so she just burrows in a little bit closer. “Okay,” she says.


	17. Chapter 17

They don’t talk about it in the morning, but that doesn’t stop her from thinking about it. In fact, it’s the first thing to cross her mind when she wakes up and notices the way the he’s sleeping. Angled towards her so that her head can rest on his arm. Is that as comfortable for him as it is for her? It can’t be. And yet he always sleeps this way for her sake.  
  
There’s no way that this man, this considerate man, genuinely thought even for a moment that ordering a bride was his only option.  
  
She thinks about it again in the bathroom, while he puts his contact lenses in. Thinks about the fact that he’s attractive with and without his glasses. In fact, she may actually like him better with them on, even if she only gets to see him that way for a couple of hours at night or first thing in the mornings. It hasn’t come up yet, but even if it did, she can’t think of a good way to tell him. And she’s not sure why it seems like something that would matter to him, whether or not she liked the way he looked in his glasses.  
He’s handsome. Far too handsome to think that he would have to order a bride if he wanted to be married.  
  
She wonders, while he makes breakfast, if he realizes how much better of a husband he is than she had expected, or even dared to let herself hope for. Are the girls here in the Capitol genuinely too stupid to see that about him? What was it that he said about her? That he would expect her to have boys lined up for her?  
  
Maybe it’s Peeta’s fault that he isn’t married. Maybe it’s just because he can’t see his own merit. She can imagine that, knowing his witch of a mother. There’s no way that she would let him know how good he is.  
She leans against the counter and watches while he scrambles their eggs. Just the way that he’s learned she likes them. She stares at his jaw. At the fine blonde hair that grows there. He must shave after he showers, because she’s seen his razor a few times, but he hasn’t shaved in front of her, yet. She wonders what he would look like with facial hair.  
  
He smiles when he looks over at her.  
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“Nothing. Just . . . you’re staring.”  
  
She looks down at the floor, cheeks hot. “Oh. Sorry.”  
  
“It’s not like I mind,” he assures her. “It just didn’t seem like you realized you were doing it.”  
  
“I didn’t,” she admits.  
  
He smiles. “Do I get to ask what you were thinking about?”  
  
“You,” she admits. He beams at her, but doesn’t press the subject any further. She shakes her braid loose and puts it back up, just to have something to do.  
  
“Scarlett wants to take you out tomorrow,” he informs her. “Or, well, she’s wanted to take you out this whole time, but she’s trying to make plans for tomorrow.”  
  
“Why?” Katniss asks.  
  
“Because she’s off.”  
  
“No. I mean, what does she want to do?”  
  
“I’m not sure. Shop, probably. And tell you everything that there is to know about me. I know she’s been dying for a chance to do that.”  
  
“I thought she already did, at the restaurant,” Katniss says. “Doesn’t she want to spend her day off with Rye?”  
  
“Rye actually volunteered to take your shift,” Peeta explains. She shouldn’t feel dread when she hears this, she thinks, but she certainly does.  
  
“I don’t want to work without you,” she says.  
  
“No, of course not!” he says. “Sorry. I should’ve been clearer. You’re not switching. You’d just go in with me again the next time I worked.”  
  
“Oh,” she says. She’s a little embarrassed that she didn’t guess as much. As if, after the burn incident, he’d be willing to let her go in alone.  
  
“But you’re not ready to get away from me, yet?” he asks. “That makes me feel like I’m doing something right, here.”  
  
She resists the urge to roll her eyes, because she’s not sure how he would take it. “Of course you are,” she says, and then decides to say something else, because if she doesn’t say it now she might not ever. “I’m glad that you’re you.”  
  
She expects to have to explain herself. To rephrase it and to tell him that – as he’s well aware – she expected someone terrible for her husband. She doesn’t have to, though. Because he grins. And he doesn’t even try to hide it. She feels proud of herself. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but knowing that she’s made him happy makes her smile, too.  
  
“I’m glad that you’re you, too,” he tells her. At first she thinks that it’s a given that she would be her. But then she realizes that he was almost as blind as she was, going into this. He saw the picture of her, from the registry. But Finnick had commented that she looked like her picture, like that was something rare. Do girls make themselves up for their pictures so that they can increase their chances of getting ordered? That picture was all he had to base his order off of, other than her age and the fact that she worked in District Twelve’s mines.  
  
He has to walk past her to get to the fridge, and it takes a moment too long to make up her mind. But when he’s on the way back and she puts himself in his path, he stops. He actually looks a little bit amused, even though he could certainly go around her. It takes a moment for her to work up the nerve, but she does kiss him. He’s smiling, she can feel it, and it’s certainly there when she pulls away.  
  
It’s all the confirmation she needs, really, that this was the right idea. But she asks anyway. “Okay?”  
  
He laughs, running his hand down her braid. “That’s always okay.”  
  
“Always?” she asks. He nods.  
  
  
She works beside him at the bakery. Is he touching her more often than he normally does? Or is she just more aware of it? Because if he has brushed up against her like this before, it certainly didn’t feel like this. His touch brings her skin to gooseflesh at one point, and she hopes he won’t notice, but he does.  
  
“Are you cold?” he asks. She thinks that it would probably be near impossible to be cold in this kitchen, with all of the ovens running. But he’s genuinely concerned, so she decides not to tease him about it.  
  
“No,” she says. “Are you?”  
  
He shakes his head. She realizes that he knows exactly the effect he’s having on her when he grins. His brother clears his throat, breaking them out of their little moment. “How are those cookies coming?” he asks pointedly. Her cheeks feel hot. Peeta shoots him a dirty look, like maybe he would have been happy to stay that way forever.  
  
That doesn’t help Katniss, exactly, as far as the whole blushing thing goes. She looks down at the bowl of dough, ready to get back to work. Peeta wraps his arm around her and pulls her in to rest against his chest.  
  
“Ugh,” Rye continues. “Could you guys be any more obvious?”  
  
“Rye. Shut up, please,” Peeta warns, his voice low. Katniss actually considers going up front with Scarlett, because this is starting to get uncomfortable. But Rye is laughing, and even though Peeta is clearly livid, she knows that he’s probably not entirely serious.  
  
“Aw, Katniss here doesn’t mind!” Rye says. “And it’s not like you didn’t give me and Scar a hard time when she first got here. Don’t dish out what you can’t take, little brother.”  
  
“You and Scarlett were sucking face in front of everyone!” Peeta argues. “This is not the same thing.”  
  
He’s embarrassed. That much is clear. His face is about as red as hers feels. She wonders if it would be warm if she touched it.  
  
That certainly wouldn’t help their case.  
  
“This is worse,” Rye argues, and Peeta actually groans. “Like, at least with me and Scar –”  
  
“Just ignore him,” Peeta interrupts. “He’s horrible. And trust me when I say that he and Scarlett were unbearable. All the time. We tried to ban them from the kitchen, because things have to be sanitary, but then we realized that the customers wouldn’t be all that crazy about seeing them.”  
  
It’s kind of funny, but at the same time, it makes her wonder if maybe he had expected her to kiss him earlier than she did. He didn’t act like he did, exactly, but she isn’t sure.  
  
“See, the thing is, Peeta’s a prude,” Rye says. “Katniss would say something if she was uncomfortable. Wouldn’t you, Kitty-Kat?”  
  
“Kitty-Kat?” Peeta repeats, incredulous. “Stop giving my wife nicknames.”  
  
“All the rules today!” Rye says in mock exasperation. Katniss actually laughs this time, unable to help herself. She looks over at Peeta, wondering if maybe she’s supposed to be acting frustrated for his sake. He smiles at her, though.  
  
“Welcome to the family, right?” he asks.  
  
“It’s been long enough,” Rye says. “Honestly, I don’t know how long you expected everyone to stay on their best behavior. I’m surprised we all lasted this long.”  
  
Peeta rolls his eyes. “Hear that? No manners. I feel bad for Scarlett, if this is the way he operates. A month of being polite and then . . . nothing.”  
  
“It’s okay,” she says. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, even though he’s smiling. And she’s not sure what it is, exactly, that compels her to do it. Maybe because of Rye’s teasing, or because of the fact that this has been on her mind since before the conversation even started. But once the cookies are in the oven, she does stretch up and give him a chase little kiss. Somehow even shorter than the other ones that they’ve shared.  
  
She’s rewarded with a groan from Rye. That, and Peeta’s laugh. Like he’s amazed but also like he thinks it’s funny.  
  
“How is that bread coming, Rye?” Peeta asks when he notices that they’re being watched. “Shouldn’t you be working?”  
  
This makes Rye laugh, thankfully. Peeta nudges Katniss, and she takes the hint to along with it.  
  
“I mean, you did say that that would be better than . . . what were even doing? Looking at each other?” Katniss asks. She actually can’t remember what it was that started this, exactly. She didn’t think that they were even being that obvious.  
  
“God! There’s two of you!” Rye says. “That’s it. I’m trading with Scarlett. She’s better at dealing with this than I am.”  
  
“Has to do with her being easier to deal with,” Peeta says. And then, to Katniss, he adds, “Scarlett and Rye are one of those couples where _better half_ is meant literally.”  
  
“Do you honestly think we don’t like Katniss more than you?” Rye asks. Thankfully, he gets back to work, though, and things get relatively quiet after that.  
  
“Should probably give you a hard time more often,” Rye says after a moment. “I mean, honestly, there’s no way Peeta minded getting a kiss at work.”  
  
She looks up at Peeta, not for confirmation, but to give him a smile. To make sure that she knows that’s not exactly the only reason that she did that. He laughs.  
  
“No. We’ll never get any work done that way,” Peeta teases.  
  
“Ugh!” Rye says. “I hate you.”  
  
  
It’s good to not have to tiptoe around him so much for the rest of the day. She’s not sure why things are different, but he seems to notice it this time, at least. Seems like he’s not able to stop smiling.  
  
“I can’t even be mad,” Rye finally admits.”Do you know how long it’s been since he’s been so happy?”  
  
“I’ve heard,” Katniss says. Partially because she has but also because Peeta’s probably been embarrassed enough for one day, and she doesn’t want to be the reason that it happens again. Not for the second time.  
  
“They do like you,” Peeta says quietly, she’s pretty sure she’s the only one that can hear that. Or, at least, Rye doesn’t acknowledge it. “I mean, not as much as I do, but they do like you a lot.”  
  
“Not as much as you?” she asks.  
  
“Not as much as I do,” he confirms. “But that probably isn’t even possible, so . . .”  
  
  
“Ooh, you get a three day weekend. Lucky duck,” he points out that night. They’re watching the show set in District Twelve again. It’s actually not that bad when you can get past the fact that it’s supposed to be set in District Twelve. “Assuming you do want to go with Scarlett tomorrow. Which, after the show Rye gave you at the bakery today . . .”  
  
She laughs. “I like them. Scarlett and Rye.”  
  
“I’m glad,” he says. “What do you want to do the day after?”  
  
“I don’t know. I kind of liked it, last time. Just hanging out around here.”  
  
He frowns, and she can tell it’s exaggerated when his bottom lip sticks out. “But there’s still so much to show you,” he says.  
  
“You want to show me more stuff?” she asks.  
  
“All kinds of stuff,” he says. “Like . . . fancy restaurants, and movie theaters, and Christmas lights, and amusement parks, and . . . everything, Katniss. I want to show you everything.”  
  
She kind of laughs. “Well, I think we might have to wait a while on the Christmas lights.”  
  
“Probably,” he agrees. “But still.”  
  
  
She doesn’t go to the bakery with him in the morning. He arranges for Scarlett to pick her up later in the day from the apartment. It’s weird, sitting in the bed and watching while he walks around to get ready.  
  
She kisses him before he leaves, and she’s grateful that she brushed her teeth.  
  
  
“Okay,” Scarlett says once they’re in the car. “I want to talk about Peeta. We can do that over lunch, or while we shop, or both. But where do you want to go first?”  
  
“Lunch,” she decides.  
  
“Okay. So, let’s talk about Peeta,” Scarlett says. Katniss laughs and hopes she remembers to tell Peeta about this later. He’ll think it’s funny. Wasn’t this exactly what he predicted?  
  
“What about him?” she asks carefully. If there’s a warning Scarlett wants to give, she wants to hear it, but she’s not asking for one, either.  
  
“Well, Rye told me about the little show the two of you put on yesterday,” she says. Katniss can feel herself blushing again. “I told him not to do it again when he talked about you getting embarrassed. But . . . well, it was a cute story.”  
  
She shrugs and looks out the window, just to have something to do. She doesn’t really want to be having this conversation.  
  
“And, hearing that you’re willing to kiss him – and in public! – makes me think this is progress. Right? So, what are you thinking? Do you like him?”  
  
“He’s nice. Gentle,” she says, even though that feels like something that should go without saying. Scarlett is watching her intently, though, so she feels like she needs to say something more. “I like him.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear that,” Scarlett says. “He’s really crazy about you, you know.”  
  
“I know.” It’s quiet for a long moment. She should be embarrassed. So why is she smiling?  
  
“Those Mellark boys, I’m telling you . . .” Scarlett says, and she trails off, but she’s smiling, too. “Ugh. And I love having you around, too. I mean, you’ve met Astrid, even though you’ve been spared the full extent of her, so far. It’s a good thing that Rye and Peeta introduced me to Annie, because otherwise, the only female friends I’d have would be Astrid and their mother.”  
  
Katniss sort of smiles. “Peeta told me that if he had his way he’d never let his mother around me again.”  
  
“Sounds like him,” Scarlett says. “We’re lucky they take after their father, aren’t we?”  
  
She nods.  
  
“Have you been able to send plenty of letters to your sister?”  
  
  
Over lunch, they talk about the letter than Gale sent. Katniss holds back the part about Peeta probably not being an asshole, because she isn’t particularly thrilled to think of Peeta hearing about that from Scarlett. Or Rye. Or at all.  
  
“And Peeta is okay with this? You talking to him?”  
  
She nods.  
  
“Good man,” Scarlett says. “You’d think he’d be jealous.”  
  
  
When they go to the mall, they end up wandering over to the men’s section, and Katniss reaches out to feel a particularly soft looking shirt. It’s a dark gray, and it has arrows outlined on it in black, crossing over each other.  
  
It’s short sleeved. Looks almost like something he would sleep in. She actually holds it up to examine it, imagining the way that he would fill it out.  
  
“You want to get it for him?” Scarlett asks. She actually looks a little bit amused. Katniss folds the shirt back up, embarrassed for wasting her time like this. “You should.”  
  
“You think?” Katniss asks. It’s much more expensive than anything she’s ever traded for, and it seems a little bit silly. But Scarlett nods enthusiastically. And Katniss can’t help but to think of the smile he’ll no doubt give her when she presents it to him.  
  
And it’s not like he didn’t send enough money with her. It takes a little bit of work to figure out what size to get – this isn’t anything like shopping for clothing in District Twelve. And the shirts clearly aren’t marked with the same sizes as the ones he bought her. Scarlett has Rye’s size memorized, but the two aren’t exactly identical. Peeta’s shoulders, they decide, are actually a little bit broader. She goes for the next size up. Scarlett explains that she should keep the receipt, and that Peeta can trade it for the right size if it doesn’t fit. The cashier takes her money and puts the shirt in a bag. Scarlett asks if she wants to run it out to the car, because they’re still in the first store, and the car isn’t far away. Katniss shakes her head, though. And she holds onto the bag tightly when they head into the next store. Her stomach does funny little flips when she thinks about it too much, so she tries not to.  
  
“What have you two been up to?” Scarlett asks. Katniss thinks that she’s relentless, but she tells her about their day off, after the burn, anyway. About TV shows and him being diligent in offering her medicine. Scarlett apologizes for what happens. Says that she and Rye feel awful about it and that they should have stepped in.  
  
“Peeta took care of it,” she says. “I’ve never seen him mad before.”  
  
“He’s always been the gentlest out of his brothers,” Scarlett says quietly. “Not that Rye and Dylan aren’t gentle. It’s just . . . I think Peeta always got the worst of it. You’ve been around Mrs. Mellark when she got angry. And then Dylan would be called these horrible names, and he would take it out on Rye, and it just . . . it all rolled downhill, I think.”  
  
It’s quiet.  
  
“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said any of that,” she says. “I know too much, I guess. But I’ve seen how kind he is.”  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Katniss says. “He’s been very good to me.”  
  
“I could’ve told you that,” Scarlett says, knocking her shoulder against hers. Katniss sits in a chair outside of the dressing rooms and gives input on dresses and blouses that Scarlett tries on. It’s sort of funny, hearing the little comments she’ll make. Like _Rye likes me in this color_ or _I’ve been wanting to get a new dress for when we go out on dates._ _  
_  
She says that they’ll have to do it again sometime when they go into the bakery, where Peeta and Rye should be close to finishing up. Katniss actually means it when she agrees. It was nice.  
  
Peeta hears the bell ring from the back and heads for the counter. She almost feels bad for interrupting his work until he smiles at her.  
  
“Oh! Hey, ladies!” he says. “Can I get something for you? We’re just about to close.”  
  
“A cheese bun?” Katniss asks hopefully. He grins and pulls one from the little display under the counter with wax paper. She takes it thankfully and digs into her pocket, glad that she didn’t spend the rest of it on the scarf Scarlett tried to convince her to get.  
  
“Oh. No,” he laughs. “On the house.”  
  
“Peeta,” she says.  
  
He raises his eyebrows, and it’s clear that this isn’t something he’s willing to argue with her about. “How was your day?”  
  
“Good,” she answers. She almost wants to go ahead and give him the shirt now, but she decides to wait until they get back to the apartment. At least, Rye won’t tease them about it there.  
  
  
She doesn’t have to wait long before Peeta gets to leave. Rye and his father will close, and Scarlett will stay to help. “Did you miss me?” she jokes.  
  
“God, yes,” he says. He’s serious. She doesn’t stop smiling.  
  
“Scarlett wanted to talk about you,” she says. “You were right.”  
  
“You get all the dirt on me?” he asks. She wants to defend herself. To say that she didn’t gossip. But he’s grinning.  
  
“She likes you a lot,” Katniss says instead. “. . . so do I.”  
  
He beams at her. “I like you a lot, too. And Scarlett’s okay, I guess.”  
  
“Just okay?” Katniss asks, and he winks.  
  
  
  
“Here,” she says once they’re safely in the apartment, holding the bag out for him. Suddenly, she wants to hide it away. To pretend like maybe it was something for her. Because this was silly. And it’s not even really a gift if she spent his money on it, is it?  
  
“What is it?” he asks.  
  
“For you,” she says. She wants to look down at her shoes. Attempts it, really, but then the urge is too strong and her eyes flick back up to his face. Just in time to see his reaction when he pulls the shirt out.  
  
“Hey!” he says, clearly thrilled with it. “This is awesome. Thank you!”  
  
She laughs a little bit. Maybe at herself, for thinking that he would have any other reaction. Maybe at him for thinking that this is a good gift.  
  
“Seriously. I love it.” He pulls her into a hug, and she wonders if he would have said this even if he didn’t like it. “Thank you,” he says again, his forehead resting against hers.  
  
“I kept the receipt. Scarlett said something about being able to exchange it –”  
  
This time he’s the one to initiate the kiss, for the first time, and her heart pounds when he does, even if it was to get her to shut up. “Nope. I love it.”  
  
She puts it in the wash while he’s in the shower, and he’s actually a little bit disappointed not to be able to put it on right away. But as soon as the dryer is done, he hurries to stand up and head for it. She looks over the back of the couch just in time to see him tug the plain white shirt he had been wearing up over his head and put the other one on. She’s seen him shirtless before, but this is somehow different.  
  
She likes it almost as much when he turns around, arrows across his chest. She feels silly all over again, because it looks like this is her attempt at claiming him or something. Marking him as her own. But, if the smile on his face is any indication, he’d let her. He turns the lights off when he comes back. She wonders if he knows she prefers watching TV in an otherwise dark room.  
  
“Here,” he says when he sits down, pulling her so her shoulder rests against his chest. “Feel how soft it is.”  
  
“You like it,” she says, and it isn’t a question, because that much is clear.  
  
“I love it,” he corrects, and kisses her on the side of the head. Somewhere near her temple. “Thank you.”  
  
She nods dumbly. She’s going to have to thank Scarlett for talking her into it. His arm stays around her, and she rests with her head on his shoulder.  
  
“Peeta?” she asks. “Are you . . .? Um, does it bother you when I talk about Gale?”  
  
It’s quiet for a moment. The light from the TV is just enough for her to be able to make him out when she turns her head far enough. More specifically, the way he squints down at her. “Where did that come from?”  
  
“It was never like that,” she defends. “Not with Gale. We were just friends.”  
  
“Are you asking if I’m jealous?” he asks, and there’s definitely a smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. “Did Scarlett give you this idea?”  
  
She doesn’t answer. Just turns to look at the screen even though she’s not paying attention, really.  
  
“No. I like it when you talk about how things were in District Twelve. And Gale is a part of your life.”  
  
“So you’re not jealous?” she asks. She doesn’t mean to glance over at him again, but she can’t be help.  
  
“I mean, it’s sort of a bummer that he got to be in that part of your life and I didn’t. But it’s not like I’m gonna throw a tantrum about it,” he says, running his fingertips through her hair. She tries not to shiver when they ghost across the back of her neck, but it feels good. “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t expect you to have a life before you came here. I mean, I had one.”  
  
She knows. And she doesn’t know why she doesn’t like to think about that very much.  
  
“But I appreciate you asking,” he says after a moment, when she’s turned back to watch the screen. “Sweet of you.”  
  
Sweet? He thinks she’s sweet? She shakes her head.  
  
“Oh, no,” he says. “That’s not how this works. If I have to accept it when you thank me, then you definitely have to accept it when I say you’re sweet.”  
  
She tries to scowl at him, but she’s too close to smiling, so it doesn’t work, exactly. She does cross her arms at him.  
  
“That’s not exactly accepting it,” he chides. The smile drops from his face as soon as she sits up, and she thinks he’s actually about to apologize. Does he think she's offended? Should she be offended? She moves quickly, both before he has the chance to say anything and before she has the chance to talk herself out of it, and kisses him.  
  
It was meant to be a short kiss. Really more a joke than anything, the way her lips brushed against his. But whatever he was going to say was forgotten the second she initiated it. He pulls her in a little bit closer with a hand on the small of her back. She moves with him, because even though she's practically sitting in his lap, she isn't close enough. Her hands move to his chest. From his chest to his shoulders. From his shoulders to his back. She stops herself there, at first, but she can't help but to move up a little bit more. It's been a while since she's touched his hair, anyway.  
  
His lips are moving against hers in earnest this time. If she was thinking a little bit more, she might be surprised at how much she likes it. But she isn't thinking. Or, at least, she's not thinking about anything other than the fact that this is what she should have been doing since the moment she got off the train. This is it. _This_. The way they fit together so perfectly. The pressure of his hand on her back, there but not pushing. The way his lips feel under hers, letting her set the pace but not exactly just going along with it.  
  
She tries to breathe through her nose. Because she doesn’t want to pull away, not yet, and there isn’t exactly enough time to get a deep breath in during the few seconds when he pulls away to shift or reposition.  
  
“Close enough?” she whispers when he pulls away, her voice low partially because she’s still out of breath but also because she doesn’t trust her voice right now. If the way her heart is pounding is any indication, it wouldn’t be particularly steady.  
  
It takes a moment for him to realize what she’s talking about. She thinks she can pinpoint the moment when he does, because he laughs. He’s almost as breathless as she is. “If you think you can get away with – yeah, okay, close enough,”  
  
She laughs, too. And she’s grateful that she already slipped her hand into the curls at the back of his head because now she can use this as leverage to lower his mouth back down to hers. Peeta certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Gentlemama for beta-ing. This was a two update week, because Tuesday was six months since I originally posted it, but we'll be going back to Thursday or Friday updates now. 
> 
> Yay for kissing! I posted something relatively angsty last night (As Long As You Both Shall Live) that was originally a drabble prompt on my Tumblr. So, basically, if you're looking for the antithesis of this fic, it'd be that. Come hang out! I'm arollercoasterthatonlygoesup on Tumblr, too. :)


	18. Chapter 18

She wonders how Peeta feels about the fact that she can’t even make it through the night. Some nights, if she wakes up early enough into the dream, she can handle it without waking him up. She can just stay there in the dark, heart racing, and breathe heavily into his chest until she manages to calm herself down.   
  
But most nights, it would be hard for him to miss what’s happening. It’s not like it was at first, when she slept curled up into a little ball out of his way. With how closely they’ve been sleeping, it’s been getting harder and harder to hide the dreams from him. And she knows that it’s selfish, but the better he gets at calming her down, the less she wants to hide it from him. Because on good nights, he’s there to comfort her about as soon as the nightmares start.   
  
But tonight is not a good night. This is the worst nightmare that she’s had since she arrived here. Maybe even longer. She shoots up, screaming, and Peeta’s arms are around her before she’s even finished, his head on her shoulder. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Katniss. You’re okay.”   
  
She’s sobbing, now. He moves to her side and she buries her face in his chest, trying to compose herself. He keeps murmuring comforting nonsense like this until she pulls it together. He’s mentioned once or twice that he gets nightmares – or  _used to_ , at least – but other than that, they haven’t spoken about it. And she hasn’t had any experience with them , but she believes him. If for no reason other than the fact that he’s been so very careful not to press her to talk about her dreams. Other than making sure – or reassuring her – that she’s okay, he never says much of anything, really, when he comforts her after a nightmare. He must understand what it’s like.    


She hasn’t asked about his, either. He would tell her if she asked him to, she’s sure. But she’s not sure that’s a door she wants to open just yet. Would that make them start their game all over again? Would he ask about her nightmares? Would she have to tell him?   
  
No. He wouldn’t want to know if it meant he would have to pry it out of her. But Peeta  _would_ want to know. Eventually, at least. And she can commit to  _eventually_. But not right now, she doesn’t think.    
  
He doesn’t expect her to. “Do you want to lie down?” he asks. “You don’t have to sleep. But . . . if you want to try and calm down, it might help. Or do you want some hot chocolate or something?” he asks.   
  
“No,” she says. “I don’t need anything. Sorry I woke you up again.”   
  
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, pulling her back a little bit to help her lie down. She looks up at him, and judging by the way he’s looking down at her, all concern, she believes that he doesn’t mind his sleeping being interrupted half as much as he minds knowing that she has these dreams.    
  
“Well . . . thanks, then,” she says.   
  
“You don’t have to thank me, either,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Just try to relax. Okay?”   
  
  
She feels much better when she wakes up in the morning. Even though he’s sleeping on his back rather than his side, and the light would usually bother her. But, like she thought he might when she bought it, he wore the arrow shirt to bed. It’s particularly soft, and makes a pretty good pillow.   
  
She reaches back and tries to pull the blanket up, and she only really realizes he’s still sleeping when he stirs underneath her. He drapes an arm over her and she brings her hand up to rest on his chest, beside her face. It’s mostly just to get a little bit closer. Peeta lets out a content little sigh.   
  
This little sigh makes her think, at least, that he likes having her in the bed with him. Does she help with his dreams just by being here?   
  
It’s only a few minutes later when he wakes up, but he doesn’t take his arm away from where he has it. The only reason she knows he’s awake, really, is because of the little circles he starts rubbing on her shoulder with his thumb. She cranes her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse at his face. She can’t quite see him, but he does laugh.   
  
“Good morning,” Peeta says once he’s sure she’s awake. “Did you sleep well? I mean, after . . .?”   
  
“Mm,” she says, thinking about it. She didn’t have any more nightmares. “Yeah. You?”   
  
“Oh, yeah,” he says. She sits up and stretches her back out. “But I’ve been sleeping particularly well lately. So, that’s to be expected.”   
  
“I don’t know how, when you let me pin you down like that,” she says. He actually laughs.   
  
“You keep saying things like that. You know I was a wrestler, right? And that you weigh about three pounds? It’s not like it’d be  _hard_  to flip you off of my chest.”    
  
This makes her smile. He takes it as a sign that he should continue.    
  
“And it’s not like . . . Katniss, I’m  _never_ going to complain about having you in bed with me.”   
  
This flusters her a little bit, but he doesn’t seem to think anything of it.   
  
  
Once he’s finished brushing his teeth, he just turns to face her, resting back against the sink a little bit. He’s not planning on putting his contacts in, she doesn’t think. Or at least, she hopes he isn’t, and that it’s not just wishful thinking.   
  
“So, have you decided what you want to do today?” he asks.   
  
 _More kissing_ , she thinks, so quickly that the thought startles her. She shrugs while she tries to recover from it. He makes a  _tsk_ -ing noise.   
  
“Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,” he chides, shaking his head. “The whole city at her feet and she can’t decide what she wants to see. What am I supposed to do with you?”   
  
She’s not sure why she’s suddenly so okay with the teasing, but she is. She rinses her toothbrush off and drops it in the holder beside his, and then she mirrors his posture, giving him an exaggerated shrug. It works. He laughs.   
  
“Seriously, though,” he says. “Do you have  _any_ ideas?”   
  
She has to consider it for a moment. “I wouldn’t  _mind_ staying in my sleeping clothes.”   
  
He looks down at his shirt and grins. “Pajamas. I think we can work something out. What else?”   
  
She shrugs again, but it’s not a joke this time. “Is there something you want to do?”   
  
“Hmm,” he says. “I can think of a few things.”   
  
She smiles, hoping that they’re on the same page.   
  
  
They aren’t. And she’s a little afraid that her disappointment is evident when his hand goes to the back of his neck. “I mean, of course, we don’t  _have_ to make cookies. I get that we’ve been baking all week long. There isn’t exactly anything special for a day off if we finish eating and go straight to baking, right?”   
  
“No,” she says. “Cookies sound good.”   


“Do they?” he asks. “Because if they don’t –”   
  
“They do,” she interrupts, not liking the way he’s tugging at his hair. “Really.”   
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“I’m sure. And besides, I’m probably decent at baking by now, with all the practice I’ve had.”   
  
“You think?” he teases. “Does that mean I can put you to work?” he asks. “Because I  _do_ need three eggs cracked.”   
  
She doesn’t mind. Though, there is significantly less room than they’re used to from the bakery. This isn’t a bad thing, exactly, but it does mean that by the time she’s finished washing up and getting a bowl for the eggs, Peeta’s mixer is on the counter where she was planning to stand.   
  
“I want to get you in a real house, someday,” Peeta says when she ends up separated from him by the oven.   
  
“A  _real_ house?” she repeats.   
  
“Yeah. With a separate kitchen and dining room.”   


She wants to tell him that she’s fine with the apartment, but he’s smiling, like this is something he’s spent a lot of time thinking about.   
  
“And a yard with trees for you, of course,” he continues. “Whatever kind you want.”   
  
 _Of course_. She smiles at the fact that he’s so considerate even in his daydream. “I want big climbing trees,” she says, and then forgets not to be greedy, “and an apple tree.”  
   
“Definitely,” Peeta agrees. “And we’ll plant one if we can’t find it.”   
  
“Does that mean we would have a yard?” she asks.   
  
He nods. “A huge one,” he says. “With a fence and a dog.”   
  
“You want a dog?” she asks, coming over to add the eggs to the dough he’s been putting together.   
  
“Oh yeah. I always have.” He grins and heads for the refrigerator. He must be able to tell that she’s confused when he reaches up to the top of it and pulls a container down.   
  
“We keep our sugar up there,” he informs her.  _We. Our_. It’s the same kind of sugar they use in the bakery. Refined stuff. She sort of shakes her head at the thought of anything so expensive belonging – even partially – to her. “But, yeah, I wanted a dog all growing up. But we never had a yard to keep it in, living above the bakery and all. And that’s the excuse my mom used, because there was no way we’d be allowed to have an inside pet, but I don’t think we’d have been allowed to have one even if we did have a yard.”   
  
“My sister had a cat,” she says, because she’s already done her job, and this seems like something he’d like to hear about. She’s not wrong.   
  
“Really?”   
  
She nods. “I hated him.”   
  
Peeta laughs.   
  
“He was terrible,” she insists. “And he hated me, too. Or distrusted me, at least. I think he remembered when I tried to drown him.”   
  
His eyes widen. “You did  _what_?”   
  
She’s done it, now. She’s said too much. “You didn’t see him!” she says anyway, trying to defend herself. “He was crawling with fleas, and the last thing I needed was another mouth to feed.”   
  
“But you let her keep him, right?” he asks. “Because you said he hated you.”   
  
He reminds her so much of Prim in this moment, so concerned about the stupid cat, that she has to decide whether to like him or hate him for it. She comes to stand a little closer and rests her head against his arm. “Yes. I let her keep him. He was a pain, but he was a decent mouser.”   
  
He smiles, like he’s genuinely relieved. “Well, it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, I guess. A hunter not particularly liking animals.”   
  
“I like animals plenty!” she argues, pulling away. “Lady, for instance – the goat I told you about – I could stand.”   
  
“Yeah, but that’s because she made your sister happy. Same reason you let the cat live,” he says. She scowls at him.   
  
“No. That goat was a little gold mine.”   
  
He looks down at her, eyebrows raised and glasses slipping down his nose a little bit. It’s clear he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t argue anymore. Good. He just goes over towards the silverware drawer and gets a cookie scoop, like the kind they use at the bakery.   


“Hold your hands out,” he says, and she’s confused when he collects a ball of dough, because he hasn’t put a sheet out. But he just drops it in her palm and then gets one for himself. She’s not entirely sure that she’s supposed to eat it until he puts his in his mouth, and when she follows his lead, she’s glad she does.   
  
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Peeta asks, sort of laughing at her reaction. “I think I like making cookies more when it’s not for the bakery. When you get to be as unprofessional as you want.” 

  
  
“Unprofessional?” she asks. “What’s unprofessional about this?”   
  
“Well, they try to tell you not to eat the dough. It’s supposed to be bad for you ‘cause of the eggs or whatever – which is why I’m at least gonna bake  _some_ of these. Plus, you know, you really can’t eat in the kitchen.”   
  
She nods. He gives her another ball of dough and she grins, popping it into her mouth. “You’re gonna have to be careful. I might only ever want to bake at home, now, if you keep letting me eat this.”    
  
Partway through, she thought that he was going to respond, but now that she’s finished, he’s just sort of staring at her. She’s just wondering if she’s said something wrong when he steps forward and wraps his arms around her, cookies forgotten for a moment. 

He kisses her everywhere he can reach. Her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. She can feel the hair on his face against her skin, especially with how quickly he’s moving. She can’t help the way she wriggles around, laughing, but she doesn’t try to pull away.   
  
He –  _finally_  – reaches her lips. He’s laughing, too.   
  
“What’d I do?” she asks, even though she’s not exactly complaining about his silly mood.   
  
“I never thought . . . I’m just happy, Katniss,” he says, a little bit more seriously. He can’t help his smile, though. “That’s all.”   
  
She doesn’t even try to stop herself from kissing him. It’s a short one, and he’s a little stunned by it. “Okay,” she says.   
  
It isn’t until he goes back to scooping the dough – onto an actual cookie sheet this time – that she realizes what is she said.   
  
 _I might only ever want to bake at_ home  _now_. 

  
“We can make a batch of dough without any eggs, sometime,” he suggests, still smiling. “Just eat it raw.”   
  
“That sounds nice,” she says, and then, because they’ve spent so much time daydreaming today, she adds, “but I like this, too.” 

Did he never think he would hear her call his apartment home? It would be a pretty fair assumption for him to make. She almost can’t believe that she did it herself. But she doesn’t want to take it back. Especially not knowing how happy it made him. 

  
“Okay. So, let me make sure I’ve got everything we’re going to need. Cookie dough, climbing trees, an apple tree, fence, a big kitchen, a dog . . . what else?”   
  
“Would it be outside of the city, if it had a yard?” she asks. 

“Oh, yeah, probably,” he says. “I’d like that. Living somewhere quiet.”  

  
“Where it gets dark at night,” she adds. He laughs.   
  
“Yeah, that would be nice. You could see the stars,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind having two stories.”   
  
“So, we should add stairs to the list, then,” she says. “Stairs and stars.” He laughs. 

“And cheese buns,” he adds. “Can’t forget the cheese buns.”   
  
“Definitely not,” she says, and then hesitates. “But aren’t you supposed to do this before you get married?” she asks. 

  
“What?” he asks.   
  
“Talk about the future,” she says. “Make plans. You know.”   
  
He smiles. “Yeah, probably,” he says. “But it’s not like we had the chance to do that, exactly. So I think we get a pass.”   
“Did you . . . would you have wanted a chance?” she asks. “To plan. And have a real wedding?”   
  
It’s quiet for a moment. She’s afraid that he’s going to say  _yes_. That this is not the way he wanted his life to be. “What do you mean?”   
  
“I mean with a bride – someone from here so, a wife, I guess – in a big white dress and . . . I don’t know. Doves, or something.”   
  
He laughs. “No. No doves.”   
  
“You didn’t want  _anything_?” she asks, skeptical. He pulls the cookies out of the oven before he answers.   
  
“Well, I didn’t have anything elaborate in mind, no,” he says. “I always imagined it would be something small. More reason not to invite my mother, probably,” he glances over at her with a smile that says he’s not exactly joking. “But if you wanted your family there, we’d invite them, of course. And, I don’t know. Probably have the ceremony outside or something.”   
  
Even hypothetically, she’s his bride. The thought pulls her up short.    
  
“I mean, I didn’t spend a lot of time daydreaming about my wedding day,” he says. “I always just thought more about the wife part than the bride part, I guess.”   
  
“The  _wife_  part?” she asks.   
  
“Yeah. Married life.” He hands her a cookie.  “Careful. It’s hot.”   
  
He’s given her a few things from the bakery, but none of them have been as fresh as the cookies are. It makes it into a completely different thing, with the chocolate melting on her fingers and it being so sweet that she’s willing to almost burn her mouth for them.   
  
“Like . . . what kind of a woman am I going to want to see when I wake up in the morning? Or, who am I going to watch my favorite shows with?” He really has put a lot of thought into this. He takes another cookie before he continues. “That’s what always seemed the most important. You know? Who will go camping with me? Who is gonna wake up in the morning and bake with me while we’re still in our pajamas?”   
  
He’s enjoying the cookies too. It’s almost funny. Like he’s not a  _baker_. Like this isn’t normal for him. He makes sure, as always, that she gets more than her fair share of what he’s made. They finish off first batch to come out of the oven almost before the second is even finished baking. 

  
  
“You like them?” Peeta finally asks. She nods. “Good.”   
  
“You are going to get me fat, though,” she warns. He pretends to think about this for a moment and then hands another cookie over.   
  
“I can live with that,” he announces. “Do you want milk?” 

She nods eagerly, and he looks amused, but gets himself a glass, too.   
  
“What about you?” he asks. “What kind of a wedding did you want?”   
  
“I didn’t,,” she admits, feeling a little harsh for saying it. “And besides, we didn’t have ceremonies in Twelve. You’d go to the courthouse, and sign your paperwork there. You didn’t really celebrate it until the toasting.”    
  
“Toasting?” he asks.   
  
“Your father never mentioned it?” That strikes her as a little bit strange. But, if he talked about Twelve as little as Peeta says he did, it would make sense. “It, um, I guess it would be more like a wedding here, if anything. That’s when all of the family and friends come in. The couple builds a fire in their new fireplace, and then their guests come over, and they sing this toasting song, and the couple toasts.”   
  
“Like . . . with drinks?” he asks.   
  
She tries not to laugh. It doesn’t work. “With bread. They make it together, usually, but if they can afford it, it’s bakery bread. They sit in front of the fire together and hold the bread out and then they feed it to each other.”   
  
She had never wanted to get married, so she never gave much thought to a toasting. Except maybe to tell her sister that she was silly for daydreaming about one the way she did. But now that she’s trying to explain it, it feels . . . intimate. Especially with the way Peeta is watching her. As if this is the most important thing she’s ever told him.   
  
“No one feels married in District Twelve until they toast,” she continues. “It’s just tradition, I guess.”   
  
“Well, that’s a lot cooler than a wedding cake,” he says, which must be high praise coming from a cake decorator. She wonders if there’s any way that the house they talked about will have a fireplace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:   
> Hey guys! I usually try to be brief here, but recently there has been an outpouring of pleas/suggestions/demands for a few things in this fic, and I decided it’s probably better to be upfront about it. Firstly, this is not an angst fic. There are a lot of great angst fics in the THG fandom. This is not one of them. I am not interested in telling a sad story here. And secondly, this fic will stay firmly in the T rating. Which means no smut. 
> 
> I am, as always, amazed at the support that this story is getting, and I am massively grateful for that. Thank you :)


	19. Chapter 19

He pushes the plate of cookies over to her, but she shakes her head and pushes it back.  
  
“I’m way too full,” she says. “I may not even be able to reach the couch.”  
  
“Don’t worry. I’ll carry you if it gets to be too much,” he assures her, and she knows he’s being silly when he stretches his hand out to offer it to her, but she takes it anyway, and that’s how they head for the living room.   
  


  
He flops down onto the couch first, sort of pulling her down with him. She leans against his chest, not quite sitting but not quite laying down, either. The cookies have made her warm and full and _tired_. In District Twelve, she would roll her eyes at just the _thought_ of a woman living this way.  
  
She feels useless. So she might as well go all the way. She stretches out and rests her head on his lap, so she’s lying down, facing him. His hands go to her hair instantly, and she feels him lifting her braid.  
  
“Is this really comfortable?” he asks. “I’ve seen you sleep in it, and it just seems like it might be uncomfortable to keep in.”  
  
“It’s not tight,” she says. “It’s just to keep it out of my eyes, mostly.”  
  
She thinks she feels the braid unraveling, but she’s only sure when she notices how sheepish he looks. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t have much practice with braids.”  
  
“It’s fine,” she says, even going as far as to smile so he’s sure. She can’t remember the last time someone played with her hair. Prim used to try to braid it, try to put it up in these elaborate hairstyles, but she had less and less time for Katniss as she got older, which, of course, extended to her hair.  
  
It was just as well. The mines were no place for elaborate hairstyles, anyway. It would be impractical. But nothing here is about practicality, anyway. And Peeta isn’t even _trying_ to put it up. He’s just playing with it for the sake of playing with it.  
  
And it feels _good_. Suddenly, she understands why he’s never complained about her doing this sort of thing to him.  
  
“You have so much hair,” he says quietly, like this is something impressive. “And here I thought mine was getting too long.”  
  
“What?” she asks.  
  
“Yeah, this is the longest it’s been in a long time,” he says. “It drives me crazy when it starts getting in my eyes.”  
  
“I like it,” she says, sort of surprising herself. “It’s curly.”  
  
He laughs. “Should’ve never gotten my hair cut the day before you came here. I’ll see how long I can put it off.”  
  
She frowns. “That makes me feel bossy.”  
  
“Don’t feel bossy. You’re well within your rights to tell me how you like my hair,” he says, grinning. “But, like I was saying, all of this on the back of your neck must get so hot.” He gathers her hair and lifts it, frowning. “I don’t know how it doesn’t drive you crazy.”  
  
“That’s why I like my braids,” she says.  
  
He thinks about this for a moment. “I might ask you to teach me. That way I could at least pretend I’m doing something useful when I do this.”  
  
He actually manages a pretty decent braid for his first time. Or, well, his third time, if you include the ones he started and then took out. But Katniss doesn’t, and based on the way it feels when she runs her hand over it, it’s pretty good.  
  
He seems to take the compliment to heart, if the way he can’t stop smiling is any indication.  


* * *

  
He doesn’t make it much further into the day before he announces that he needs to shave. And she tries not to be nosy, she really does, but there isn’t much for her to do, and she’s had so many cookies already that she feels almost sick to her stomach. So she ends up going into the bedroom not longer after he does.  
  
He doesn’t mind being followed. “Hey,” he says, and she watches from the doorway to the bathroom while he washes his face. “Sorry. I wasn’t running away. It just gets itchy if I go too long without shaving.”  
  
“It tickled me, earlier,” she says, sort of smiling.  
  
“This should fix that,” he says, picking up a little canister that he must hide away in one of the cabinets and dispensing some white foam.  
  
“I didn’t mind.” She didn’t, exactly. He looks down at his hands, as if all it would take for him to rinse it off and grow his facial hair out would be for her to tell him to.  
  
“Are you a beard girl, Katniss?” he asks, rubbing the foam across his face. As if to remind himself where to shave. It looks a little silly. Like a big white beard. “I never would’ve pegged you for it.”  
  
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I like it the way you keep it.”  
  
This makes him smile. She’s seen her father shave before, with the single-blade razor that he had to be so careful with, but Peeta’s doesn’t look much like that. She’s quiet anyway while he shaves, just leaning against the doorframe and watching.  
  
“What do you want to do with the rest of our day?” he asks. “Did you get enough pajama time, or do you wanna try and hit the twenty four hour mark?”  
  
She’s never spent that long in her sleeping clothes. She nods, and he laughs.  
  
“Okay. So that narrows down our options a little bit. Do you want to play a game?” he asks. “We can play cards again, or I can teach you how to play my favorite game in the world.”  
  
“Let’s do that,” she says. He touches his face once he’s finished, as if to ensure that it’s soft enough.   


* * *

  
The object of the game is simple enough. There are thirteen districts on the board, all ringed around the Capitol in a way that she’s sure isn’t accurate. Each of them can be purchased with the fake money they were given at the start of the game. The object is to get to the Capitol, starting at the woods outside of District Thirteen and working your way in towards the center circle. Each time you get to the Capitol, you’re awarded with two hundred dollars for your efforts, but then you have to work your way out of the circle and back in, and hope that you don’t land on a district that’s already been purchased.  
  
She went first, so when her roll took her to Twelve, she didn’t hesitate to buy it. Peeta made a comment about _okay, so that’s how we’re going to play_ , and bought Eleven when he landed on it. She’s made it out of the Capitol twice, now, but she’s losing all kinds of her money to pay rent on his districts.  
  
“You landed on Eleven. You owe me two hundred,” he announces, as if she hasn’t already realized. He certainly isn’t going easy on her. And she doesn’t even mind, really, because she’s planning on beating him.

She grumbles, but hands over the fake bills anyway. Hopefully he’ll land on Four, next time. She built a train station there, so it’s worth more if he lands on it. The game is silly, but Peeta is clearly enjoying it – maybe especially because she took such an interest in it. But that’s really just because she wants to win.  
  
“You’re much better competition than my brothers,” he informs her while he takes his turn. “They usually get bored and quit by now. Part of why I’m the reigning champion in my family. I have patience.”  
  
“If I quit, it would mean you would beat me,” she says. “I’m not about to let that happen.”  
  
He laughs. “Careful there, Katniss. You don’t want to get cocky.”  
  
“I’m just saying, if this is about having patience and – _yes_!” she says when his piece stops on one of her properties. “Yes! That’s four hundred. Pay up, Mellark!”  
  
“Oh, yes, patience, dignity, experience . . . good sportsmanship,” he teases, sliding the money over towards her. “It’s all a delicate balance, really. You’d be surprised at how quickly the tides can change in this game.”  
  
“Like they just did?” she asks, glancing down at his pile of money – now considerably smaller than it was before.  
  
“They can shift back. They _will_ shift back,” he says, leaning back in the seat a little bit. “Luck is involved, too.”  
  
“Of course it is,” she says. “When you’re losing.”  
  
“You want to make this interesting?” he asks. She wonders if he realizes that she has nothing to bet with. “The winner picks what we have for dinner.”  
  
She kind of laughs. It’s their day off, so they’ll probably end up having pizza either way. It’s basically a tradition, by now. She thinks his mission is to have her try every pizza place in the Capitol. “Sure. Okay,” she says. “I’ll play. But you’re not allowed to go easy on me.”  
  
“Good,” he says. “Because I’m putting an apartment complex here in Seven.”  
  
  
She hadn’t realized when they played cards just how competitive Peeta could be. Either his guard was further up, then, and he didn’t want to scare her off, or he really wasn’t very good at the games that they played.  
  
But this afternoon is different. Probably because she made him promise. He’s more than happy to come through on that. Driving his rent prices up, and taking her for every dollar she has. She ends up selling District Two back to the bank, and the shine in his eyes makes it clear that the game is over, but she keeps going until there’s no chance of coming back, because of what he said about luck.  
  
“Well,” he says. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t go easy on you?”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “What was that you were saying earlier about good sportsmanship?” she asks.  
  
“Easy to talk about when you’re losing, right?” he jokes, and she laughs.  
  
“What are we having for dinner, Victor?” she asks. He actually pretends like he’s thinking about it for a moment.  
  
“I was thinking pizza.”  
  
“Sounds good to me,” she says, not bothering to pretend like his choice is a surprise. They’ve had pizza almost weekly. “You can pick what we watch, too, if you want. Since you won.”  
  


* * *

  
She doesn’t care much for the movie. It’s what she’s learned to call _science fiction_. It’s not her favorite, but Peeta clearly likes it, which is entertaining enough in its own right. She’s sitting up on the cushion beside him while she eats, but she can see him in her peripheral vision. Can see how much he’s enjoying the movie based on the way he leans forward or smiles or nods.  
  
She likes the pizza. And she likes her _husband_. So she eats a lot and thinks, watching Peeta while he watches the screen, about how lucky she is that he’s the sort of person that she could _enjoy_ spending time with. How miserable would this be if he was anything remotely close to what she had set herself up for? If he just wanted to bring her to fancy Capitol parties and then ignore her at home? Or worse, if he wasn’t as _patient_ as he is with her. Hadn’t he said that he forgot, sometimes, that they were married?  
  
Mostly, in her letter to Gale, she talked about how she’s adjusting to the Capitol. About working in the bakery. She tried not to talk about Peeta too much – maybe because of his comment. But she had to explain, at least for his peace of mind, that there’s just something _likeable_ about him. She left it at that, but sometimes, when she’s writing her sister a letter, more will come out. About the way his eyes light up when he gets excited, or the way he leans in close to listen when she tells him something. She finally admitted about the kissing in the last letter, because Prim asked her directly whether or not he was any good at it.  
  
The idea that her sister would know the difference between good and bad kissing bothered her to no end. But, even though she’s not sure what to compare it to, she says that Peeta is good at kissing. She thinks he probably falls somewhere better than good. Even now, it’s hard not to just tangle her fingers in his hair and kiss him senseless, but she did promise that they would watch whatever he wanted, and she doesn’t want to distract him from that.  
  
She’s not sure what it is about him, but she can tell that he’s started to root himself inside of her in a way that she’s not sure another man – from the Capitol or from Twelve – could. She should be focusing on the robots on the screen, but instead, she can’t help but to think about kissing him. About feeling the newly smooth skin where he shaved.  
  
“It was awesome, right?” he asks when the credits – finally – start to roll. She gives him a smile that she hopes doesn’t look as forced as it is.  
  
“It was . . . interesting.”  
  
He laughs. “Not into robots? I’m not going to lie to you, that’s a little disappointing, Katniss.”  
  
“Really?” she asks.  
  
He nods solemnly. She thinks he’s over it, but he continues when they settle into bed, both sitting back against the headboard. “I mean, this is an issue, Katniss. What are we supposed to _talk_ about if you’re not at least a little concerned about a robot uprising?”  
  
“Because that’s been such a problem before,” she says. And his eyes widen so quickly that she can’t help but to laugh.  
  
“The robots?” he asks. “No. Those things don’t fail. They won’t try until they’re sure they can wipe us out.”  
  
“I was talking about us not having anything to talk about,” she says. “I think we’ve done pretty fine so far.”  
  
“You’ve got a point.”  
  
She’s sure that he’s going to laugh at her. That’s he’s going to notice how pathetic she if she tries to flirt. And since _when_ does she try to flirt, anyway? No wonder she’s so bad at it. But . . . he has given her express permission to kiss him anytime she felt like it. And surely the only way to be _good_ at flirting is to practice.  “And besides,” she says, clearing her throat. “I kinda like it when don’t talk, anyway.”  
  
He doesn’t laugh. He just looks at her, eyes slightly squinted, like he’s trying to figure her out. “When we don’t talk?” he asks.  
  
That’s when she leans forward. She’s kept her hands – and lips – to herself admirably tonight, she thinks. And Peeta clearly isn’t disappointed. He moves as if to meet her as soon as it’s clear what she’s trying to do. She reaches up and touches the side of his face, which is about as smooth as she had hoped it would be when he shaved. And he leans his head into her hand, and then their noses end up pressed together painfully.  
  
Peeta laughs, his head falling back – and into the headboard. She shouldn’t laugh. If the noise it made when it hit the wall is any indication, it must have hurt. But he’s still laughing, even when he reaches back to rub at the spot on the back of his head.  
  
  
“Are you okay?” she asks.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assures her, laughing. “I just thought I had a little more space than I did. It’s okay.”  
  
This makes her laugh, too, even though she probably shouldn’t. She covers her mouth with her hand for a second until she can compose herself. “Are you sure? Because if you–”  
  
“I’m sure,” he says, trying to fight back more laughter. “But I am _seriously_ glad that it didn’t go down that way the first time. Because . . .”  
  
“How did we get bad at it?” she asks.  
  
“I don’t think we’re _bad at it_ ,” he assures her. “But it’s a little different, kissing in here. Our positioning was off.”  
  
She sort of frowns. She’s not entirely sure that she wants to only be able to _really_ kiss him on the couch.  
  
“We can try again,” he offers, sitting back against the headboard all the way. “Practice does make perfect, after all.”  
  
She kind of wants to sulk, but she figures she may as well give it a shot. But she is a little bit more timid this time. Peeta’s hands come up to her cheeks, all gentleness, and she’s glad that she agreed to practice with him.  
  
“Better?” she asks.  
  
He laughs. “Yeah. And I’ve gotta say, that was significantly less disappointing than you not liking robots,” he says. “But if this is how we settle our disagreements. . .”  
  
“Barely counts as a disagreement,” she says. He raises his eyebrows at her.  
  


* * *

 

“You know,” Peeta says once the lights are out. “We can still go do things. I mean, I _do_ love that you’re comfortable just hanging out here. But I also really don’t want you getting bored.”  
  
“I’m not,” she defends, getting under the covers. “I’m not getting bored. Today was nice.”  
  
He smiles. “I thought so, too. But I meant it when I said that there was still more I wanted you to see.”  
  
“What do you want to do?” she asks.  
  
“I don’t know. We could see what’s going on tomorrow. I mean, Saturday in the city, there’s usually something,” he says, endearingly nervous as he joins her in the bed. “If nothing else, there’s always dinner and a movie.”  
  
“Okay,” she says. “Sounds nice.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asks. “Good.”  
  
For the first time, she kisses him goodnight. The lights are off, and he seems surprised by it when she stretches up to kiss him, but he doesn’t seem like he’s anything less than thrilled by it. “Night,” she mumbles, returning to her normal position, snuggled up against his chest.  
  
“Good night,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Modernlifeofash and Icbiwf with help for betaing and prereading, respectively.


	20. Chapter 20

She doesn’t remember her dream, but she assumes that it was a good one, because she’s content when she wakes up. _Content_. There’s a word she never thought she would use to describe her life in the Capitol. Was it really less than a month ago that she was on that train? Crying in the rocking compartment, thinking it was her last chance to mourn District Twelve.

  
  
It didn’t work, of course. She had almost forgotten about the way she wept that first night she was here. That seems like a lifetime ago. It’s a Sunday. The old Katniss’ favorite day. She and Gale would be off work, and they’d meet in the woods in the morning. Probably much earlier than she’s up today. But she’s not sure. Peeta is blocking her view of the alarm clock on his side of the bed, and she’s not entirely prepared to move. Especially not if it means waking him up.   
  
It’s warm here, anyway. And she doesn’t have a good reason to move. As if sensing that she’s not planning on moving, Peeta’s arm – the one slung over her shoulders, tightens around her a little bit. He sighs a little bit when she burrows somehow closer to him. Like he’s content, too. She looks up at him, taking notice of the way his face looks when he’s completely relaxed. It’s not that he seems beaten-down, exactly, during the day, but there’s something about seeing him this way that’s different.

  
It must be because of how hard he tries, during the day, to make sure Katniss is happy. But . . . no. That can’t be it. He doesn’t _have_ to be doing half of what he’s been doing for her. It isn’t like she could leave if she wasn’t happy. Divorce is hard, especially through the Ordered Spouse program, but not _impossible_. And she would have no way to leave the Capitol even if she hated him. Not at first, at least. Hasn’t she made it clear to him that she most certainly doesn’t hate him?   


  
And besides, haven’t his friends and family said that he’s been _happier_ since she’s been here? She knows, based on what she’s heard about Glimmer, and what she’s seen of his mother, that it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. But she doesn’t want to think about that for too long. For some reason, the thought of an _un_ happy Peeta is enough to make her gut clench uncomfortably. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s Peeta.   
  


That’s when it hits her. Peeta doesn’t do everything that he does for her to try and manipulate her or because he’s afraid of what she would think of him if he didn’t, or because he’s afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t. He’s doing it because he’s just that . . . she’s not sure what the word is. _Compassionate_ is the only one that really comes to mind. He’s said himself that he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be in her position, and yet here he is, over and over again, trying to soften the shock of moving to the Capitol.   
  
She’s sort of staring at him when he wakes up. But that doesn’t matter. Usually he’s the one up, first. And _usually_ , she’s been drifting in and out of sleep with nightmares and dragging him with her.   


  
“Morning,” she says, sort of smiling.   
  


He grins. “Good morning,” he returns. “I hope you haven’t been awake long.”   


  
“No,” she says. “Not really.”   
  


“You should’ve woken me up,” he says.   
  
She shrugs.   
  
“No nightmares, though, right?” he asks.   
  
She grins. “No nightmares,” she confirms, slightly too proud. “I think all your hard work is paying off.”   
  
He kisses the top of her head. “Oh, no. I refuse to take credit for that. That’s all you.”   
  
“Not really,” she says. “But I am happy.”   
  
“You slept like you were happy,” he says. She wants to ask why she doesn’t know when he’s having a nightmare, but she doesn’t. This morning is already shaping up pretty pleasantly. She reaches up and brushes some of his hair back with her fingers, trying to get it to stay, but it flops stubbornly back down over his eyes.   
  
“You see why I hate it?” he asks, eyes crossing a little when he looks up at it.   
  
“I think it’s great,” she says, bringing her hand back up. “Fun to play with.”   
  
They linger in the bathroom that morning. He has to brush his hair a couple of times to get it halfway decent, and she knows he’s going to just get it wet, so she’s not sure what difference it’s supposed to make.   
  


He makes cheese buns while she takes her shower. He’s still been giving her a wide berth, but she brings her clothes in with her anyway. She had been sure that she grabbed her father’s shirt – the one she packed in her bag – but she ends up with the one Peeta gave her instead. When it’s unbuttoned over the black undershirt, it falls almost all the way past her shorts. She wonders how some of his other clothes might fit her. There had sure been plenty of room in the one he loaned her at the beach.   
  
She goes ahead and braids her hair while it’s still wet and wraps the towel around her shoulders to catch the extra water. Peeta is in one of the arm chairs when she comes out, probably waiting for the dough to rise. He only sits in those when he thinks she’s not going to be out soon to join him on the couch, she notices. Did he sit in it more before? Does he miss it?   
  
She kind of wants to sit in the other one, but it’s too far away. She sits down on the edge of his instead, and he looks up at her, pleasantly surprised.

  
“Hey, there,” he says, grinning. “Been a while since I’ve seen that shirt. I kinda missed it.”   
  
She smiles. “Did you want it back? Because I could –”  
  
“No, of course not,” he says. “I meant what I said the first time you wore it. I like it _much_ better on you.”   
  


She didn’t accept the compliment the first time. And some small part of her doesn’t want to accept it this time, either. “Oh. Well, thanks. For the shirt. And what you said, I guess.”   
  
He laughs. “Yeah. Anytime.”   
  
“What are we going to do today?” she asks, ready to change the subject.   
  
“I’m not sure.  Like I said, there’s a lot I wanna show you. Like, maybe we could go for a walk.”   
  
“I’d like that,” she says. “Where?”   
  


“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we could spend some time out and about, and then pack something up and do that for lunch. Like a picnic. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”   


  
“Yeah,” she says. “That sounds great.”   
  
  
  
He changes into a pair of dark jeans after his shower but puts the arrow shirt back on. She must look at him funny, because he glances down at it.   
  
“I was gonna put it in the wash when we got home. I didn’t think it got real dirty, yesterday, but –”  
  
“You don’t have to keep wearing it. I won’t be offended if you change,” she interrupts. He can’t correct her quick enough.   
  
“No. No. I _want_ to wear it. I love this shirt.”  
  


She shakes her head at him, but can’t deny the fact that it’s an almost proud feeling that rises up inside of her, being the one that picked that out for him. That’s what wives do, anyway, right? If they were in District Twelve, and she had traded for something for him at the Hob – no, that would be different. He would wear it because he wouldn’t have too much of a choice. Here, with all of the options he has, and the fact that she told him she wouldn’t be offended if he changed, it’s clear that he’s wearing it because he really does like it.  

  
  
“Okay,” she says. She wonders if he feels this way every time she wears one of the shirts that he bought her. Or, maybe, if that’s why he likes to see her in this shirt so much. It _was_ the first gift he gave her. Unless the massive dinner he cooked for her counts. “All right.”   
  
“I’ll wash it after today, promise,” he says, like that’s what he thinks she’s concerned about. “Two days really isn’t all that bad, I don’t think, for a tee shirt. Right?”   
  
She shrugs. They never did their laundry in Twelve half as often as Peeta does theirs. “I’m just glad you like it.”   
  
“Of course I like it,” he says. “You’re silly.”   
  
  


The path that they walk is man-made. It leads straight from a parking lot, cuts through the woods, and is lined with streetlamps that aren’t turned on yet. Even the dirt on the ground seems artificial. Packed down in a way that couldn’t be just from footsteps.   
  
There were a few different little signs, but Peeta clearly knew which one he wanted to bring her to. She’s starting to think that maybe he knows her a little better than she would expect him to, because the one he brings her to is just about perfect. Not too different from the one she liked in District Twelve. Only slightly shaded by some of the trees, and all but abandoned, save for the other couple. They’re sitting on a blanket not unlike the one Peeta brought. They’re all but tangled up in each other, kissing.   
  
Is that what this place is? Somewhere for kissing?   


  
“Here, help me lay this flat, please,” he says, claiming a spot beside a patch of wildflowers and dandelions. At the sound of his voice, the other couple springs apart as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing, she figures that she’s wrong. Oh. Maybe she should be relieved.

  
She helps him to straighten the blanket and then sits down, facing Peeta and not the blushing couple. It’s quiet, save for the way the birds are chirping. She picks a dandelion and rolls it between her fingers, watching the yellow head spin back and forth. It’s small. Not fully bloomed yet, probably. But that doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s picking it to _eat_ it.   
  
She’d be willing to bet Peeta doesn’t even know you can eat them. He’d have no reason to, really. Not in a million years. He’s always had more than enough food. Still, she can’t help but to remember picking dandelions with Prim all those years ago. Knowing that they would make it after all. She picks another, and another. When her fingers reach a tall purple weed, she plucks that, too. She plucks all of the ones within arm’s reach. Peeta might call her _silly_ again, but that would be okay.   
  
“Hey, I found a Wish,” he says. She looks up just in time to see him gingerly pluck a dandelion that’s gone to seed, looking at it for a moment before he offers it over to her.    
  
She’s gentle with it, too. She’s not exactly sure why he wants her to have it. The seeds would fall off if she tried to weave it with the others. “A Wish?” she asks. “What am I supposed to do?”   
  
“You blow on it,” he says. “I don’t know why. It’s just supposed to make your wish come true, or whatever.”   
  
Why is he so shy about it? “A wish,” she repeats. It takes her a moment too long to come up with one, she’s so content to just be sitting here. Finally, she closes her eyes tightly, thinks of her sister, and blows.   
  


He’s watching her when she opens her eyes, and she looks down at the weeds piled between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “I think you’re actually not supposed to.”   
  
She nods. He would probably feel horrible if he knew how badly she missed Prim. It’s funny, the way it hits her some days. How badly she misses her.   
  
“Cheese bun?” he asks, getting into the little basket he packed. She nods, and he laughs a little bit, tossing the bag over to her. She opens it quickly and shoves one in her mouth. She was only able to sneak one before he packed them up. And that one, she thinks, was just a distraction so he could pack up the rest of the meal without her watching over his shoulder.   
  
With the cheese bun still in her mouth, she gets to work on weaving the flowers into a crown. She’s not sure why. She won’t wear it. And her sister isn’t here to put it on. Her fingers move out of habit, though, and she doesn’t have to think about it too much.   
  
“You come here a lot?” she asks once her mouth isn’t full.   
  
“Not for a while. Do you like it? I know it’s not as pretty as the national park, but –”  
  
“It is,” she says. “It’s very pretty. I had a meadow like this in Twelve. It was less round, but . . . yeah. I like it a lot.”   
  
He smiles, looking for all the world like she’s complimented _him_ and not his choice in meadows. “I’m glad.”   
  
She frowns down at her failure of a flower crown, realizing that she messed up somewhere along the way, and starts to unweave it.   
  
“How are you doing that without even looking at it?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the weeds.   
  
“Well, I’m taking it out right now,” she says. “But I have years of practice. Had to keep my sister happy somehow.”   
  
He grins.   
  
“It’s sort of like you not having to read recipes, I guess,” she continues.   
  
“So . . . you could teach me?”   
  
“I mean, I guess,” she says. “If you wanted to learn.”   
  
“I do,” he assures her, maybe a little bit too serious about it.   
  
“We’re gonna need more dandelions,” she decides, standing up. Peeta comes with her, staying diligently by her side while they gather. She knows logically, that they could gather up way more efficiently if they split up, but she doesn’t mind. Once they have enough, she leads him back to the blanket and adds them to the pile.   
  
“Here,” she says, pushing the pile a little bit closer to him. “First, we have to pick out the longer ones.”   
  
He nods. “Okay. I think I can do that.”   
  
She tries to talk him through it, but it’s hard for him not to split the stem all the way down the middle, so she comes to sit beside him and guides his hands, telling him when to stop.   
  
“You can make them with clover, too,” she says. “Basically anything with a thick stem.”   
  
He nods, like he’s genuinely considering this. Once she’s positive that he knows what he’s doing, she starts on one of her own, mostly just to have something to do. This one is smaller, though. She ends up making a bracelet. It fits a little big on her, but she just wants to take it back to the apartment so she can press it and mail it to her sister.   
  
Prim will like hearing about this, she decides, resting back on her elbows. She’ll have to write a letter as soon as they get back so she doesn’t forget anything. Gale tried to make a flower crown for Posy, once, when they came across a patch in the woods. She tried to teach him, but he didn’t have the patience for it.   
  
It was a little bit funny that he didn’t, considering the fact that he could crouch and wait on game for ages without complaint. But for something frivolous, if it wasn’t done quickly, it wouldn’t get done at all. Katniss ended up taking over after he complained a few too many times.   
  
Peeta, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind it at all. He has steady hands from working at the bakery anyway, she figures.   
  
“I can weave it right into hair, too,” she adds, even though that particular skill doesn’t do either of them much good. “That used to be Prim’s favorite. I think we did that for her first day of school. Ugh. She’s graduating soon.”   
  
His hands still. She wonders if she’s made it too clear that she misses her sister. She doesn’t want Peeta feeling guilty about it, so she rests her head on his shoulder.   
  
“You’re doing great,” she says. “You only have to make it a little longer, and then I’ll teach you how to connect it.”   
  
“Okay,” he says, smiling. He pretty much knows how to do it himself, she thinks, but he lets her show him anyway. It ends up being a little bit too big when he’s finished. They both laugh when he sets it on her head and it dips forward, covering her eye.   
  
“Hold on,” she says, taking the crown off and shaking her hair loose. “Maybe it’ll fit a little better now.”   
  
He seems a little transfixed. She feels self conscious. “What?” she asks.   
  
“Nothing!” he says, a little too enthusiastic in his haste to reassure her. “Just . . . I _really_ like seeing you with flowers in your hair.”   
  
“They’re weeds.”   
  
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “They suit you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless gratitude, as always, to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash.


	21. Chapter 21

Peeta raises his eyebrows at her when she says that she’d like to spend some time in the city.

  


“Prim has all these questions,” she admits, playing with the dandelion chain around her wrist. “I don’t know how to answer them.”

  


That’s part of it. The other part – the one she doesn’t feel like admitting to – is because she’s pretty sure that she’s never going to be able to fully adjust to things here if she doesn’t start really experiencing them. The city is the most achievable thing she can think of trying. Peeta agrees to take her, but she wonders if it’s because she mentioned her sister.

  


Surely Peeta can’t already have a soft spot for Prim, can he? He hasn’t even met her. And Katniss hasn’t told a _lot_ of stories about her. Just little things. Like flower crowns and healing.

  
  


She can see why he was hesitant as soon as he parks the car downtown. It’s busy and crowded. She knows that she wouldn’t be teased for wearing it, exactly, since it’s far from the strangest fashion choice around, but she takes the dandelion crown off and leaves it in the car.

  


Peeta doesn’t mind. He offers her his hand as soon as they get out of the car, and she holds on tightly. “You’ll let me know if it’s too much, right?” he asks.

  


She nods, eyes flitting around, not sure where to rest. It’s sort of like the day in the train station when she first arrived. Not everyone looks bizarre. There are plenty of people dressed the way Peeta and his family dress, with their natural hair and skin colors, or ones that could at least pass as natural. She’s not the only one having a hard time not staring at the more brightly colored citizens. She can see heads turn as some of them walk by. Like the woman in the dress that looks like it’s made out of real butterflies. Or the man walking the bright green dog.

  


“You okay?” Peeta asks. She nods and starts walking forward. _To the end of the street_ , she decides. If she can make it that far, she’ll count the day as a success. Peeta deserves a wife that can walk downtown with him. She gets bumped into a couple of times. Shouldered or elbowed on the way past. She stumbles forward and Peeta steadies her.

  


“Familiar,” she jokes, and he smiles.

  


“It was surprisingly hard not to yell at that woman that day, you know,” he admits.

  


“What? Why?” she asks.

  


The way he looks at her makes it seem like she ought to know. But she has no idea, really. He seems to notice this. “Well, okay, here’s my wife, who I haven’t even had the chance to even _meet_ yet, looking like a total fish out of water, scared out of her mind, and just when she recognizes me, she gets knocked over, because someone couldn’t watch where they were going,” he says. “I mean, it’s bad manners no matter what, just running into people because you’re too lazy to adjust your path, but – yeah. Looking back, I’m really glad I didn’t. Would’ve been a horrible first impression.”

  


She smiles. “Yeah. You actually ended up giving me a great first impression. I didn’t even realize who you were.”

  


He laughs. “I’ve thought about that way too much. Is it a compliment?”

  


“Oh, definitely,” she says. “You have no idea how much I wanted to not like you.”

  


“Is that so?” he asks.

  


“It’s all I thought about on the train,” she admits. “How I comforted myself.”

  


“Comforted?” he asks.

  


“I felt guilty for leaving my sister. But, I thought, at least it was forgivable since it wasn’t for something _fun_. But those plans flew out the window when you took me camping.”

  


“So . . .” he hesitates, stopping in his tracks to examine her. “What you’re saying is that you’re having fun here?”

  


She nods, and he looks so genuinely happy that she almost expects – and maybe hopes – for him to start kissing her all over again. The way he did when she called the apartment _home_. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just tries and fails to keep himself from grinning.

  


“And I like you,” she adds, in case that wasn’t obvious. She doesn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

  


That earns her a chaste little kiss. She would pull him back for more if they weren’t in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. The crowd seems to be getting denser and denser the longer they stand still. She tugs Peeta into the closest store.

  


“You okay?” he asks. She nods.

  


“Yeah. Just . . . needed some air, I guess.”

  


“You picked a great store to look around in,” he says. “Biggest one on the block.”

  


It takes a moment for her to realize what they’re trying to sell. Peeta’s right. The store _is_ huge. It’s for furniture, she decides. It has different rooms modeled, separated from each other with half walls, but only three for each room, so you can walk right in. They all seem to be clumped together. Bedrooms by bedrooms and bathrooms by bathrooms. She sees sitting rooms, too. And elevators on the far wall, meaning that the other rooms must be displayed upstairs.

  


“Where do we start?” she asks.

  


“Wherever you want, as long as I get to pick the kitchen.”

  


“Sounds fair,” she says, leading him off towards the area with the sitting rooms. Every piece of furniture has a bright orange sticker or tag on it that says _try me!_ as well as a price tag. She realizes how _nice_ Peeta’s living room is. It doesn’t look too unlike something that they’d sell here.

  


“Is this the one?” he asks when she lingers in a room with a couch that looks similar to the one they have but a little bit bigger. “In the house we talked about yesterday, I mean,” he says.

  


She considers it for a moment and then nods. He grins.

  


“Nice. My girl’s got good taste.”

  


_My girl_. She realizes after she smiles that the old Katniss would no doubt bristle at being called _anyone’s_ girl. So why doesn’t she mind when it’s Peeta?

  


“Did you buy your living room here?” she asks.

  


“Like, as a set?” he asks. “No. I think I might’ve gotten a couple of pieces here, like the rug or the chairs, but I put it together.”

  


“You’re good at it,” she says.

  


This makes him happy. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

  
  


They end up in the section dedicated to dining rooms next. Peeta seems to be taking it seriously. He pulls out a chair for at each table – always in the same spot she sits at in the apartment, just to the right of the head of the table. She assumes it’s so that he could sit beside her without a corner separating them, but he never sits at the tables with her.

  


Not unlike the day at the sporting goods store, he starts to take pictures on his phone. She furrows her eyebrows at him and he laughs. “It’s for comparison.”

  


“What are you looking for?” she asks.

  


“I’m not sure,” he admits. “But I’ll know it when I see it. This one is close.”

  


She considers this for a moment and then stands up, pushing the chair back in. “Is it? Or are you just trying to get a new picture for your wallet?”

  


He hangs his head in mock-shame. “Is it okay if the answer is a little bit of both?”

  


She laughs. “Only if you let me take pictures, too.”

  


Peeta _loves_ this idea. He’s eager to show her how to pull up and work the camera – both the one on the back and the front, which he uses to take a picture of the two of them together. She decides she’s fine with him snapping her picture, as long as two can play at this game.

  


So when they make it to the bathroom models, she holds her hand out. He doesn’t hesitate to put the phone in it.

  


“Maybe you should get in the tub,” she says, completely joking. “See if you’ll fit.”

  


He does. And she can’t help but to laugh when he drapes both of his shins over the side of the tub and rests his arms along either side. His facial expression is funny, too. Lips pursed, eyebrows raised, head tilted off to the side.

  


The laughter spurs him on. The next post he does includes an arm thrown over his chest and his mouth opened like he’s shocked. As if he’s been walked in on. The pictures come out blurry. She doesn’t exactly care.

They document the rest of the trip this way, with slightly-blurry pictures taken on his phone. He looks over at her in front of a particularly large bed. And if the store wants her to try it, and Peeta wants her to try it . . .

  


She hands the phone over and then flops down onto it dramatically, arms and legs sprawled out across it. She doesn’t reach the edge on any count. She hears Peeta laughing and decides that she’s done well enough. Is she supposed to feel proud about it? Because she does.  
 

They finally make it upstairs and to the kitchens, and it’s funny to watch Peeta’s reaction. He looks around, eyes wide, smile on his face, and she follows him to one.  
  
“ _This_ is what I’m talking about,” he says, heading off towards it. She follows him, watching while he opens the refrigerator – it’s somehow _bigger_ than the one in the apartment – and reads stuff on the tags. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  


She supposes it is. Metal and shiny, sort of like his leg. “The stove isn’t connected to anything,” she points out, going over to look at it. It’s set in the middle of a dark gray counter. This excites him, too.

  


“This is the kind I always wanted,” he says, motioning towards the different knobs. “This is what Finnick and Annie have and they love it. You know, you can get double ovens for your house? Like we have at the bakery. That’s usually what they do. They have one of these, and then stack the ovens.”

  


She shakes her head. _Why would you need two?_ “We wouldn’t need that.”

  


“Probably not,” he agrees, turning slowly, as if to take the whole area in. “Oh, man. And a garbage disposal. And a trash compactor. I say we just move in right now.”

  


“Right here?” she asks. “I thought we were gonna live outside of the city.”

  


He frowns. “You’re right. We’d have to find something comparable . . . it’s a shame, though. I really do like this one.”

  


“You’re this happy with the first one you see?” she asks, shaking her head at him playfully. “And here I’ve been wondering why you like me.”

  


She went too far, this time. He frowns. “Katniss,”

  


“I’m kidding,” she says.

  


He raises his eyebrows. “Are you? Or is this something we ought to talk about?”

  


She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t _have_ an answer. She wishes she had just kept her mouth shut.

  


“This is harder for you than you’re letting on, isn’t it?” he asks. “I’m . . . I really do like you, Katniss. And not just because you’re my wife. Or because you’re gorgeous.”

  


She feels her cheeks getting hot. “Don’t,” she protests, but he continues.

  


“I like you. I like you a _lot_. You’re pretty much my favorite person on the planet. And you’re definitely not the first one I’ve met. So, do what you will with that,” he says.

  


“I like you, too,” she says, and he studies her for a moment, like maybe he thinks she only said that because he said it first. She reaches over and grabs his hand again. “I do. I _like_ you. And that’s saying something, remember.”

  


He smiles.

  


“I do,” she reiterates, sort of to herself, as well as to him. “I like you. I’m having _fun_ ,” the thought of it is silly. But really, that’s what she’s doing. Especially today, goofing around and taking pictures with him. “With my _husband_. Who I like.”

  


He laughs. Maybe a little bit incredulous. “Okay. I won’t argue with you on that.”

  
  


It’s sort of funny, the way her heart starts to pound once they’re in the car. She had been so concerned with making sure he knew that she liked him that she didn’t fully realize what it was he thought of her, but now that she’s thinking about everything he said, her stomach is doing these funny little flips.

  


So when he turns to look at her, even though she’s pretty sure he’s about to ask her a question, she leans across the center console and she kisses him. And he’s a little bit surprised, at first, but he doesn’t complain, and he doesn’t pull away. This kiss might be her favorite, so far. Warm and familiar and yet somehow new. Peeta’s hands find their way into her hair – still down from when she put the flower crown in it – and she ends up practically sitting on the center console, she’s trying to get so close.

  


“Well, hey,” he says when he pulls away.

  


“I’m pretty much your favorite person?” she asks, suddenly shy.  

  


He laughs. “I was wondering what I did to earn that. Yeah.”

  
  


He acts like he’s overjoyed after that. She wonders if he thought, for some reason, that she _didn’t_ like him, or if he just likes the confirmation. Because it isn’t like she thought that he disliked _her_ , but now that they’ve talked about it, she can’t stop returning the smiles he keeps offering her.

  


“I told you how much I love seeing you in that shirt, right?” he asks when they’re seated on the couch that night, eating cold pizza.

  


She nods. She’s not sure what compels her to continue, but she does. “I always used to wear my father’s shirts,” she admits, swallowing hard. “It’s nice to have something that doesn’t fit quite right. More comfortable that way.”

  


“He made you leave some for him, huh?” he asks.

  


The smile falls from her face. Peeta’s, too. Her bottom lip trembles, and she’s just hoping that he won’t notice when he speaks.

  


“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you homesick.”

  


Why is he apologizing? She shakes her head, but he takes it the wrong way.

  


“I wasn’t thinking,” he says. “I know how hard all of this must be for you, and it seems like you and your father are really close. I’m sorry.”

  


It’s been _years_ since she’s cried over her father’s death. She refuses to start now. “It’s not . . . that’s not it,” she says, wiping at her face roughly. He frowns. “He’s dead.”

  


He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  


“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up for a second. “Please. Just . . .”

  


He nods.

  


“It was in the mines, when I was younger,” she continues. Peeta deserves to know. “They blew up. There was nothing even to bury. That’s what I – when I have my dreams. They’re about that.”

  


She thinks he’s going to apologize again, but thankfully, he doesn’t. “I won’t say it again if you don’t wanna hear it. But that isn’t fair.”

  


She nods. There’s more to that story. About her mother and how she practically had to raise her sister. But she won’t be able to make it through it. Not today. “It wasn’t. It was horrible.”

  


“And you still worked there,” he says quietly. “You’re so strong.”

  


She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I had a choice.”

  


“There’s _always_ a choice,” he insists. “You chose not to roll over and give up. That’s strength.”

  


She needs to change the subject, and fast. “But, no. You didn’t make me homesick.”

  


It isn’t a lie. She misses her sister, and she can’t help but to wonder whether or not Gale is planning on writing her back, but she’s not _homesick_. There’s something about way that he’s watching her that tells her he doesn’t exactly believe her. But he wants to.

  


“I’m fine here,” she assures him. “I _like_ you. Remember?”

  


This earns her a bright smile. “I like you, too,” he says. “But if you ever _do_ feel homesick, feel free to raid my closet.”

  
  


She presses both of her dandelion chains in her plant book before bed, but she’s not planning on sending the crown to her sister. That, for some reason, seems like something she ought to keep in the back of the book, along with the daisies he gave her.


	22. Chapter 22

Either she’s getting lazy, or Peeta’s alarm is going off earlier than it should be. It’s not like they stayed up the night before, but they _did_ watch a couple of episodes of some show that Peeta said he used to watch with his brothers, and she thinks she remembers him offering to stay up later. Not that she took him up on it. They never get to bed _too_ late. He even joked, last night, about her _marrying an old man_.   
  
She sighs, but Peeta shuts off the alarm and turn to face her before she works up the energy to sit up. He traces tiny little circles on her exposed shoulder with his fingertips, and she sighs, melting a little bit further into the mattress. Her eyelids are heavy, and Peeta smiles, like he knows what he’s doing when he starts to move his hand across her collarbone.   
  
“You don’t have to get up, if you don’t want to,” he offers, voice quiet and soothing. “We don’t work for a while, still.”   
  
“Mm,” she says. “You’re nice to me.”   
  
He laughs. “Well, I try. I’m gonna go brush my teeth and shave, but then I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me.”   
  
“You’re not staying?”   
  
“I’ll be right in the kitchen,” he explains, and she frowns. She _wants_ him to stay. But she doesn’t tell him that, because she’s not sure why she feels like he ought to stay in the room. He kisses her on the forehead. “Sleep well.”    
  
She nods. “Wake me if I sleep too late.”   
  
“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I mean, I’m not even sure how long I’ll last without you,” he jokes. “See you in a little bit.”   
  
His side of the bed is warm, and it doesn’t exactly hurt when he tucks the blanket around her, either. She’s asleep again by the time he comes out of the bathroom.   
  
  
The first thing that she notices when she gets up is that he closed the door behind him. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him close it before. She isn’t sure why. Maybe she’ll ask him about it, sometime, but it hasn’t come up yet.   
  
Still, she can’t help but to be curious while she gets dressed and brushes her teeth. What is he doing out there? Couldn’t he have stayed in the bed with her? Or wanted to, at least? She shakes her head, as if to dislodge the thoughts, and opens the door. The smell of cinnamon rolls baking is unmistakable. Did she really miss it, before? She feels guilty for even thinking that he didn’t want to stay with her when he was doing something nice, instead.   
  
He doesn’t notice her sneak out. He’s at the table, leaned forward in his chair and looking at something on his phone. She buries her hands in his hair and he leans back to look at her, the startled look on his face fading into one of contentment. “Hey,” he says, setting his phone down. “You get enough sleep?”    
  
“Yeah. Thank you,” she says. “I was wondering what you were doing out here.”   
  
“Oh, you know. Regretting not staying in there with you, mostly.”   
  
She feels her cheeks getting warm. “Too bad you couldn’t do both.”   
  
“Well, I _was_ kind of thinking about breakfast in bed. But _someone_ doesn’t sleep long enough for that to happen.”   
  
“I think I would feel very spoiled if I ate in bed,” she says, enjoying the way he smiles when she uses her fingernails – longer now than they ever got in Twelve – to scratch lightly at his scalp.   
  
“That’s sort of the point,” he says. “Happy anniversary, by the way.”   
  
_Anniversary_. Her hands still. “I’ve been here a month?” she asks.   
  
“To the day,” Peeta says brightly. “Weird, right? It’s like I can’t decide whether it feels like you’ve been here longer or like you only just got here.”   
  
“I can’t, either,” she admits, coming to sit down beside him. Or, maybe she can. When she thinks of it in terms of how long it’s been since she last saw her sister, she can believe that she’s been here for a month – or maybe even longer, if she didn’t trust Peeta’s ability to keep track of the time. But as far as the time that she’s spent with Peeta goes, a month doesn’t seem like very long.   
  
Not considering how much Peeta knows about her. About her father. About her upbringing. About things that she all but swore to herself that she wouldn’t ever trust him with. Or how she couldn’t sleep very long in the bed just because he wasn’t there with her. Is she becoming her mother? The thought makes her frown, but it’s chased by a much worse thought. One of _not_ having Peeta to sleep beside at night. _No_ , she thinks firmly. _Peeta isn’t going anywhere._  
  
“I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner tonight,” Peeta says. “I mean, it seems only appropriate, right? For such a big day?”   
  
She doesn’t know. No one celebrates anything as silly as a _one month_ anniversary in Twelve. “I wouldn’t mind eating a hamburger,” she says. “If, you know, it’s only appropriate.”   
  
He grins. “You’ve got it.”   
  
“You don’t have to, though,” she says, not sure if it’s the right thing to say. “I mean, if you’re making me cinnamon rolls and all.”   
  
“No. Date night sounds great,” Peeta assures her. “We’ll swing by the apartment after work to get changed and shower, and then head out. Are there any movies you wanna see?”   
  
They’ve seen a couple of trailers, but she can’t think of any at the moment, so she shrugs.   
  
“That’s okay. We can do research first. If you’re feeling up to going to the  theater, that is.”   
  
_If you’re feeling up to it_. She hasn’t heard him say that in a while. She smiles. “That sounds nice,” she admits.   
  
“Yeah?” he asks. “Great.”   
  
She loses count of how many cinnamon rolls she eats. Peeta is only about halfway done with his when she finishes her first, and she eats part of his. He doesn’t mind. He just keeps shoveling more and more onto her plate.   
  
  
  
“How has your anniversary been so far, Katniss?” Scarlett asks when she and Peeta join her in the kitchen.   
  
“Good,” she answers. “He’s already been spoiling me today - or, this whole time, really. But especially today. I got to sleep in while he made me cinnamon rolls.”   
  
Peeta smiles, somehow managing to look both pleased and bashful at the same time, and Katniss gives him a little kiss before going over to retrieve her apron. She likes it when Scarlett stays back in the kitchen with her and Peeta, if only because they can kiss without having attention called to it. Rye teases them mercilessly.  Katniss doesn’t even mind it as much as she knows that she should. Maybe because of the way Peeta gets flustered, and how she thinks that the little blush is endearing, rather than something that makes her feel guilty for being part of the reason it’s there.   
  
She tries to get all of her kissing in at the apartment, or in the car, before they go in to work their shift at the bakery, but she can’t be prepared for the things that he’ll do that will keep her from being able to help herself. Like the day he finally convinces her to let him teach her to sculpt one of the flowers for a cake, and when, after a few attempts, he looks at her like he’s so _proud_ of her. She can’t really be expected to keep her hands to herself, can she?   
  
Or when they get back to the apartment and he has already had a vase of flowers delivered to the door. Sunflowers, this time.   
  
“You have good taste in flowers,” she says when he presents them to her, and he grins.   
  
“Oh. Well, I’m pretty certain that it’s easy to fake if you steer clear of roses, but I’m glad you like them!”   
  
She laughs. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”   
  
“You’re welcome,” he says, and she stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “You really do like them, then,” he says against her lips. “I thought, you know. Like our dandelions.”   
  
“I love them,” she says.   
  
  
He heads into the bathroom to shower, and she lingers in the kitchen, putting water into her new vase. She doesn’t have anything else to do, so she goes in and goes through her drawers, chastising herself for not knowing what to wear. She sets out the yellow blouse she met his friends in at first, but then goes into the closet for her dresses. She doesn’t have too much of a choice -- the yellow one from Annie and the blue one from her mother, and she wore the yellow one the last time that they went out on a _date_.   
  
Of course, he didn’t call this one a date. At least, not in so many words. She hesitates and then pulls the blue dress down anyway. That’s when she hears it. Peeta is singing. She changes in the closet, since she’s sure he won’t be out any time soon, and then lies back on the bed, stares at the ceiling, and listens.   
  
Peeta doesn’t sound like her father – their voices are completely different, and Peeta’s lacks that practiced quality that she remembers her father always having. But it is familiar, hearing a man sing like that. She can all but _hear_ how happy Peeta is, just based on something in the way he’s singing.   
  
She’s still on the bed when he comes out of the shower, wearing a pair of shorts - underwear, she realizes a moment too late - but nothing else. She jerks her head off to the side, cheeks flaming.   
  
“Oh, sorry!” Peeta says, smiling. “Didn’t realize you’d be in here.”   
  
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m sorry.”   


“Nah. Don’t worry about it,” Peeta says. “I mean, you’ve seen me in my swimsuit. Practically the same thing.”   
  
She guesses so. She steals a glance over at him when he crouches in front of the dresser to get his pants out, paying attention to the muscles in his back, but she feels far too guilty about it, so she looks away. “Done in the bathroom?” she asks. This situation will not get the best of her. She refuses to let it.   
  
“Yep. All yours,” he answers, tossing a grin over his shoulder. She offers him a little smile in return and decides to ignore the way her stomach is flopping around. Prim would call it _butterflies_.   


  
She puts the dress on and stares at herself in the mirror for a long time. She doesn’t plan on even trying makeup any time soon -- and even if she wasn’t so put off by the idea of it, she can’t _imagine_ how silly she would sound asking Peeta for makeup -- but there’s got to be some way she can dress up for him. She leaves her hair down, partially because of the way he looked at her the last time that she had it that way, and also because it looks pretty decent that way. She wonders if he’ll want her to learn more hairstyles eventually.   
  
The blue dress fits her _much_ better now than it did the last time that she wore it. It still comes to rest partway down her shins, rather than above the knee, like it’s supposed to, but that’s because of her height and can’t be fixed. But her body fills out the rest of the dress in ways that it never could before. Pieces of fabric that once sagged awkwardly on her underfed body are now stretched taught against the soft flesh there. Her hair hangs down her back, glossier than any merchant girl could dream of, thanks to the shampoo and conditioner Peeta bought for her. And there’s something _different_ in her face, too, that can’t be explained away with her cheekbones filling out. She’s softer. It’s something in her eyes. In the curve of her lips, even here, by herself.   
  
  
Peeta is dressed when she comes back out, in a pale gray button-down shirt and pants but no shoes. He’s not ready to go, then. That would explain the way he’s sprawled out on the bed.   
  
“Tired?” she asks.   
  
“Oh, no. Just thinking,” he says, sitting up. It would be a lie to say that the way he looks at her isn’t satisfying. He swallows hard. Glances from the dress to her face and back again a couple of times. Opens and closes his mouth, like he doesn’t know what to say.  “You’re so pretty,” he finally says. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’d like to think I could have come up with something better than that, but apparently not. You are, though. You’re so pretty.”   
  
“I’m not overdressed?” she asks.   
  
“No! Though, well, I’m never gonna complain about seeing you in a dress.”   
  
Her cheeks feel warm. She registers that he should feel lucky, though, because she’s much more comfortable in her dress than she has been in her pants. They just aren’t fitting well anymore, the ones from home or the ones Peeta bought for her. It was easier when all of her clothes were too _big_. “Well. Okay,” she smiles. “Just let me get my shoes on, and I’ll be ready whenever.”   
  
“Works for me.”   
  
  
He takes her to go see a movie after dinner. She’s amazed at how big the theater is, and they stand around trying to figure out which movie they want to see the most before they get their tickets.   
  
He buys her a huge bucket of _popcorn_ and two large drinks. One is a water and one a _soda_ that he says he thinks that she’ll enjoy. By the time they get into the room where the movie is being played, it’s mostly full. She suggests that they sit in the empty row in the back, and he follows her without complaint. He moves the armrest up, so there’s nothing separating them, and she leans into his chest a little bit. It’s more comfortable than she thought it would be.   
  
His hand reaches for the popcorn in her lap, but ends up touching her thigh, instead. She turns to look at him when he whispers his apology, and even in the darkness of the theater, she can see the pink tint to his cheeks, so she shakes her head and gives him a little smile. Because she doesn’t actually mind. She doesn’t like the drink much. It’s too sweet for her. But that’s why he got her the water, and it makes her smile that he thought about it.   
  
They talk about the movie that night, in bed. Peeta puts more thought into it than she has.   
  
“The little girl reminded me of my sister,” she admits. “Probably just because she was blonde. And amazing. Like Prim.”   
  
“She’s got to be amazing, with a big sister like you,” Peeta says, the words so shy that a rush of warmth spreads through her. And, suddenly, they’re kissing. She starts it, but that doesn’t matter. Peeta seems just as intent to continue it as she is. He tastes like toothpaste – or maybe she does. The thought makes her laugh, and though there’s no way that Peeta knows what she’s laughing about, he joins her.   
  
She rolls onto her back, and he follows her. He ends up practically on _top_ of her, but she doesn’t fear that he’ll crush her, and she’s right not to. He supports himself on his forearms. She’s breathless when they pull away.   
  
“Good to know we can kiss on the bed,” she manages.   
  
He laughs. “I think that counted as making out, technically. But I don’t disagree.”   
  
She reaches a hand up to touch her bottom lip. He’s never kissed her so _thoroughly_ before.   
  
She lets out a little squeak of surprise -- and maybe delight, too -- when Peeta starts to kiss his way down her jawline. He pulls away to look at her, like he’s afraid that he’s gone too far.

  
“Feels good,” she manages, even though she’s a little mortified.   
  
“Okay. Well, I’ve been trying to think of the right word,” he says, and then continues his trail of kisses.   
  
“The right word?” she prompts.   
  
“Yeah. Thought I could multitask, but I couldn’t. The right word. Because lucky is too random, you know. I’m thinking privileged, maybe. I’m _privileged_ to be the one that gets to kiss you. And to wake up beside you in the mornings.”   
  
“I’m thinking we should do more kissing,” she says.   
  
“I’m good with that,” he agrees. “Come here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash for beta-ing no less than three different versions of this chapter, and to all of you lovely readers for being patient with me -- Prompts in Panem was this week on Tumblr, and I got a little preoccupied. :)


	23. Chapter 23

In District Twelve, your house is assigned to you when you file your marriage documents. So Katniss isn't entirely sure what Peeta means when he says that the _lease_ on the apartment is almost up until he asks if she'd like to go look at houses outside of the city on their day off.

 

“I’d like that,” she admits, leaning back to look at him as best as she can with her head pressed against his chest. He finds the remote and pauses the TV. “Not that I don’t like the apartment, just . . .”

 

“I know,” he says. “It’s funny. I loved this place, once. Figured it was just the right size, since it was just me. But I think it’s time for something bigger, now.”

 

Just him. She hadn’t even thought to wonder if Glimmer lived with him, here. She smiles. She’s the only one that’s shared this apartment with him. It makes her feel a little bit too proud.

 

“And we get to decorate it together,” he adds. “That’ll be fun.”

 

“Maybe you could do some more paintings,” she says.

 

“I have been wanting to try out a portrait.” He smoothes some of her hair away from her face with his fingertips.

 

She scoffs. “You’d want a painting of me hanging in your house?”

 

 _“Our_ house,” Peeta corrects. “And yes. If you’d allow it.”

 

“Our house,” she repeats, a smile forming.

 

“Sounds nice, right?” he asks. “Not that the apartment _isn’t_ yours. I just think it will be nice, you know. Getting to _really_ start a life together.”

 

To really start a life together. She wonders what that means. Peeta excuses himself to go and make a phone call, saying that he has to call a real estate agent to get them set up for tomorrow.

 

She instantly dislikes the real estate agent. She’s a woman with teased blue hair who dresses much younger than she is, with heels that _click click click_ against the driveway of the first house that she brings them to.

 

“Oh, she’s fresh off of the train, isn’t she?” the woman asks, looking Katniss up and down.

 

Katniss stares down at her father’s boots -- the only part of her outfit that didn’t come from the Capitol -- and tries to figure out why she feels so embarrassed.  


“I can tell,” the woman continues. “I’ve seen more than enough in my day.”

 

“No, she’s been here for a while,” Peeta says, draping his arm protectively around her shoulders. “So, what do we know about this place?”

 

The woman goes on and on about the house, but it doesn’t fit very much with any of the things that they decided that they wanted for their future home. It looks almost too modern, and while Peeta has nice things to say about it – he likes the kitchen, for instance, and the windows in the bedroom let in a lot of light – she’s relieved when they slide into the car and he raises his eyebrows at her.

 

“Did you hate it?” she asks.

 

He laughs. “There’s _gotta_ be something better.”

 

“I was afraid you liked it,” she admits. “I didn’t know how I was going to tell you I didn’t like it.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Peeta says. “I’ll give you the nod if we find one we like.”

 

She smiles.

 

“I’m sorry if she made you uncomfortable,” he adds.

 

“No, I’m okay,” she says. “But I’m glad that you aren’t like that.”

  


She’s taken with the third house as soon as they drive up, and she sees the trees that fill the neighborhood. The house is set back, at the end of a sort of twisted driveway. It’s brick, with dark, dusty green shutters outside the windows. Peeta gives her hand a little squeeze, and when she looks over at him, he gives her an almost imperceptible nod. She can’t help but to grin.

 

“Look at the trees,” she says. “They’re perfect.”

 

He laughs. “I know! And there’s a fireplace. See the chimney?”

 

She didn’t before, but now it’s all that she can focus on. “I was starting to think you didn’t have those, here.”

 

“I’ve never had one. Weird, isn’t it?”

 

“A little. Does it work, do you think?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” the woman chirps, waving them forward. They follow her into the house, and she’s convinced instantly. The front door leads through a small hallway and into the living room.

 

Unlike the white walls of the apartment, these walls are painted red, all except for the bottom half of the wall with the fireplace, which is made with some feature that looks like stone. When Peeta crouches down in front of it to take a closer look, images pop into her mind, unbidden. The two of them building a fire together. Bread baking in the other room.

 

“Looks like it’s in order,” Peeta says. “The red walls are great. That’s supposed to take _so many coats_ to get right, so this would be pretty lucky, if this is the one we like.”

 

“I like it,” she says. “We should probably see the kitchen, though, for your sake.”

 

Peeta laughs. “After you, then.”

 

The kitchen is nice. It isn’t as big as the others that they saw today, with a separate dining room. But she sort of likes having the table in the kitchen. It’s just an oven, a refrigerator, a dishwasher, and a couple of empty countertops, but Peeta says that he could _make it work_ with a smile that makes her feel all too happy.

 

The bedroom is a little bit bigger than the one that they’re used to. The walls in there are white, but Peeta makes a comment about being able to paint it, since it’s not an apartment.

 

She thinks of what Peeta said about them decorating the house together.

 

“What if the bed went there?” she asks, motioning towards the far wall.

 

“You think so?” he asks. “That’s funny, I was thinking maybe the corner.”

 

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be able to get in if we put it in the corner.”

 

“Oh. No, I was thinking I’d just crawl to the side,” he smiles. “I like your idea better, though.”

 

“We’d need a painting to hang over the bed. The sunset, maybe? From the living room?”

 

He hesitates. “I don’t know. Would that maybe go better in the living room? With that red wall?”

 

She shrugs. “I’ve never decorated a house before.”

 

“Me, neither,” he says. “Not a real one, at least.”   


They tour the rest of the house, and when they stop in the guest room, she turns to give him a little kiss. “I like this one.”

 

“I do, too,” he says. “We’ve got one more, but I sort of doubt it’s gonna beat this one.”

 

“We could still give it a shot,” she offers. “But I don’t think it will either.”

 

It doesn’t. It’s run down – a _fixer upper_ , Peeta explains – and not half as _right_ as the other one was. He agrees, and she’s glad. Would she be able to ask him to give up a house he wanted for the one she liked? Or to be able to give up the house she loved for the one he chose?

 

“Can you imagine how nice that would be?” Peeta asks on the way back to the apartment. “Living away from town like that? I mean, it’ll add some time to our commute – unless we open our own bakery,” he says, wagging his eyebrows like he’s kidding but-not-quite before he adds, “but I think it would be worth it. Living out of the city like that . . . I bet that you could see the stars.”

 

She smiles. “That would be nice.”

 

She describes the house in the letter to her sister, and when Peeta comes out to the kitchen to get water, he grins at her.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“Nothing. You just look happy,” he says. “I like seeing you smile like that.”

 

“I am happy,” she admits. “I’m explaining how much we liked that second house. With the trees and the big bathtub.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks. “You ever go house hunting in Twelve?”

 

She shakes her head. “They assign your house when you get married. This is much more fun.”

 

He grins. “Good. I’m glad you had fun. I did, too. Though, we could’ve stretched this out a little bit if we hadn’t found such a great house on the first day.”

 

  


Her dream that night isn’t a nightmare, but she wakes up disoriented all the same. Peeta is still fast asleep behind her, thankfully oblivious as she throws the covers off. That isn’t enough, though. It’s far too hot in the room. She tries to be quiet when she heads for the bathroom, closing the door carefully behind her even though she just wants to sprint to the sink and splash cold water on her face. She slides down to sit on the floor, instead, and buries her face in her hands.

 

 _Peeta_. She had a dream about Peeta. Or, well, not _just_ Peeta. In the dream, he was holding a giggling dark haired baby who was wrapped up in a light pink blanket. _His_ baby.

 

 _Their_ baby. For a moment, whether it was in the dream or in real life, she had a brief, delicious feeling of happiness at seeing the two of them. She recognized the look on his face when he stared at the baby. He looks at her that way, sometimes. Like she’s the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen.

 

“ _She’s beautiful_ ,” dream-Peeta had whispered, just before Katniss woke up. Is that what he wants? He’s never said that he wants children, but he’s never said that _doesn’t_ want them either. She can’t really help but to think that someone like Peeta – someone so kind and gentle – almost _has_ to have children.

 

Katniss, on the other hand, made up her mind about what she wanted while she was still a child, herself, forced to grow up too fast due to circumstances that she could never put another human being through. She’s never wanted children. Not even for a moment. Should she have told Peeta that earlier?

 

Her head bangs against the door when it falls back in her frustration. Is that why he wanted to move her to a new house? One with extra rooms? So that they could have space to raise _children_? That must be what he meant when he said that he wanted to _really start a life together_.

 

She never thought the education in Twelve was particularly strong – especially during the week when the boys and girls were separated for sex education – but she knows what comes before a pregnancy. Knows what married couples do. How long did she think that this . . . grace period . . . Peeta seems to be giving her was going to last? Her breathing is coming in little gasps, now, but before she can get herself _completely_ worked up, a little hesitant knock comes at the door.

  
She stands up, forcing herself to take a deep breath. Peeta is there, so close that she almost runs into his chest when she opens the door.   
  
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I thought I heard crying.”   
  
“No. I’m fine,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”   
  
“What are you sorry about?” he asks. He looks so concerned that she feels bad for not being able -- or willing -- to talk to him about what’s wrong.   
  
She shakes her head. “Yeah. I just got hot, in bed. Had to cool off.”   
  
“Do you want me to turn the air conditioning on?” he asks.   
  
She shakes her head. “I’m fine now. But thank you.”   
  
His eyebrows knit together, and she tries to figure out how he’s so sure that something is wrong. Is she really that bad of a liar? Either way, he seems to relax a little bit when she curls up against him in the bed. His hand comes to rest on the small of her back, and she can feel the heat radiating from his palm and down through his fingertips.

  
“Do you feel okay to go to work?” he asks. “Because if you’re feeling under the weather . . .”   


She shakes her head. “I’m fine, Peeta. Really.”

  
  
She manages to fall asleep again, but just barely. The problem is, now that she’s had the thought, she can’t _un_ think it. It weighs on her mind all morning. Especially because Peeta looks to be faring about as well as she is, stealing little glances at her when he thinks she won’t notice. Like she’s going to break at any moment.   
  
So she does.   
  
Not just because of Peeta’s concern, but also because of the couple that comes into the bakery to order their wedding cake, and the little offhand comment Peeta makes about wedding cakes being his favorite. It has barely anything to do with what she’s afraid of, but it’s still enough to bring back that hot, panicky feeling from the night before, and this time, when Peeta asks if she’s okay, she shakes her head.

  
“Okay. I’m gonna go tell Dad we’re going home.”   
  
She nods, and he heads back into the kitchen for a moment. When he comes back, he shoots her a little thumbs up and reaches for her hand. She lets him take it, but it sends a something electric running through her that’s almost terrifying.   
  
  
She gets a glass of water as soon as they get to the apartment. “Do you want some?” she asks.   
  
“Oh. Thank you. That would be great.”  
  
She nods and busies herself with filling his glass -- he likes _crushed_ ice, she’s noticed -- and then with carrying them to the table. “Um . . . I think we should talk,” she says.   
  
It’s silent for a long moment. He comes and sits down across from her, rather than beside her, and she instantly regrets saying anything.  
  
His fingers drum nervously on the table. Shouldn’t _she_ be the uncomfortable one, here?   
  
“Do you want more, Peeta?” she asks, watching his hands. They still, but he doesn’t answer. “More than -- um, more than what we do.”   
  
She can hear him take a gulp of his water. She drags a drop down the side of her own glass, just to have something to do.   
  
“ _More_?” he asks, sounding almost pained. “I’m not sure that I . . .”   
  
“More,” she says, and she’s frustrated at the fact that she’s too embarrassed to say it. “Like what husbands usually want from their wives.”  
  
“Oh. See, I figured you didn’t mean you wanted to spend less time watching TV, but . . .”   
  
He’s silent for a moment too long, and suddenly, a different fear grips her. What if he _doesn’t_ want her? Would that be worse, somehow? Maybe that’s why it took so long for him to want to touch her -- she had thought that had been for her benefit, but if it was for his . . . no. What would all of the kissing mean, then? “ _Do_ you?” she presses, before she does something stupid like cry.   
  
“Can you give me, like, two seconds?” he asks, his tone shorter than he’s been with her since she got here. He softens instantly. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m trying to figure out what happened. Have I been coming on too strong?”   
  
Her head snaps up to look at him, but he’s as bright red as she must be, judging by the heat in her cheeks, so she looks back down. He’s barely initiated any kisses or contact, and he’s afraid of coming on too strong? She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, a little rougher than she should be. “What?”   
  
“Hey, don’t cry,” Peeta says, his voice gentle. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the last thing I want is for you to feel like I’m pressuring you into anything, especially something like _intimacy_.”   
  
His hand reaches out about halfway across the table, but he stops, as if waiting for her to offer her hand up, but she can’t do anything but to stare. She _is_ crying, if only a little bit. She can’t help but to feel pathetic.   
  
“But shouldn’t you . . . shouldn’t you want it, by now?” she asks, the words coming out much more vulnerable than they’re supposed to. Great. Now he must think she’s weak at best and irrational at worst. Terrified at the idea of being with him and offended at the thought of not.   
  
“Oh, Katniss,” Peeta says, sounding pained, almost. “You are so gorgeous, and funny, and kind, and smart, and I am so taken with you. Do I want us to get to that point? Yes. Absolutely. Eventually. But I don’t want anything that you don’t want, or that you’re not ready for, or that you aren’t completely comfortable with.”   
  
“Oh,” she says.   
  
“I mean, Finnick and Annie didn’t kiss for . . . I don’t even know how long. Close to a year.”   
  
She must not be able to keep the surprise out of her expression, because Peeta sort of laughs.   
  
“I know. You wouldn’t guess it if you weren’t around when they first got there. Annie didn’t even want a husband when she ordered him. She just wanted people to leave her alone and stop trying to get her to date again. And Finnick didn’t press her, but he crept up on her. And you saw them, right? They are so in love, and they didn’t rush it.” He hesitates. “The point I’m trying to make here is that we’re not on some kind of a time limit. Thankfully.”   
  
This draws a smile out of her. “Okay,” she says. “I could . . . eventually, I could.” She’s not sure what she’s promising him. That she could fall in love with him, eventually, or that this is the sort of thing that she would be open to, eventually. Both of them don’t seem like too much of a stretch, in the moment.   
  
He’s grinning when she steals a glance up at him. “I hope you know how much I love kissing you. I love it. It’s so much -- _you’re_ so much more than I would have ever been able to dream of, or think up, for that matter. I mean, just you saying that has me . . .” he doesn’t have to complete the sentence. The giddiness on his face is evidence enough that he was happy to hear her say it. “Anyway, when we _do_ , it’ll be because we both want it. Okay? Not because it’s something that’s expected of a married couple, and especially not because you think it’s something I want.”   
  
She nods, because that sounds much better than anything she’s been able to come up with, as far as what Peeta wants goes. “I like the kissing, too,” she admits, her voice so quiet that she practically just mouths it.   
  
“Me, too,” he says, as if that isn’t obvious, since he was the one who brought it up. It’s endearing “I really hope that you don’t feel like I’m chomping at the bit, here. Because I’m not. I’m perfectly content -- more than content, really -- to kiss you.” She glances up at him, biting her bottom lip, and he gives her a little smile. “There you are.”  


“It’s that good?” she asks, as if how much _she_ enjoys it isn’t an indication. “I sorta like it, too.”

 

“Yeah,” he says with a crooked smile. “You just being here with me is amazing. And even though you terrified me there, for a minute, I really am glad that you felt comfortable enough to ask to talk.”   
  
“I scared you?”   
  
He laughs. “Yeah. I mean, nothing good ever comes _we should talk_. But this was nice, actually. Better than the alternative.”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
He hesitates.  “I just . . . I really appreciate the fact that you didn’t just _assume_ that things were going to be a certain way. Because, well, talking about this sort of thing is a little bit more embarrassing than it should be, considering the fact that we’re married.”   
  
She did assume that things were going to be a certain way. But she doesn’t argue with him.

  
  
Things are quiet for the rest of the night. She waits for him to get the blanket, so that they can sit under it on the couch, like she’s getting used to, but he doesn’t. His arm slings over the back of the couch, but doesn’t exactly go around her shoulders. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do to make this better.   
  
Thankfully, he doesn’t try to stay on his side of the bed that night. He lies more in the middle than anything, and she lies against him. “Hey,” she says.   
  
“Hey,” he returns. “Thanks for talking to me today.”   
  
She nods. “I didn’t mean to . . . freak out on you. It was just a dream. It was stupid.”   
  
“No, it wasn’t,” he says, propping himself up on one shoulder so he can get a better look at her. “I mean, you never would’ve been able to talk to me about any of that when you first got here. I mean, you were scared to tell me that they lose your luggage. Remember?”   
  
She nods, a little laugh bubbling out without her permission.   
  
“So, yeah, thank you,” he says.   
  
“You’re welcome,” she says, hoping for a goodnight kiss. She gets one, but it isn’t as long as she’d like for it to be. And all it really succeeds in doing is making her want _more._ She doesn’t get more, though. She just gets one on the tip of her nose.   
  
“We should get some sleep,” he says. “I know you didn’t get much last night.”   
  
There’s no point in arguing, so she nods. “And Peeta?” she asks.   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Thanks for listening.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, eternal thanks to gentlemama and modernlifeofash, and to all of you lovelies who are reading this. :)


	24. Chapter 24

She hasn’t ever taught anyone how to shoot. She tried with Prim, but her sister was always too distraught at the sight of the injured animals to even want to touch Katniss’ bow. And even though Katniss never admitted it, she liked that about her sister. Liked that Prim was still innocent enough to want to save a wounded animal when she was in the woods for a hunting trip.

So she never pushed. Sometimes, during particularly bad times, she would enlist her sister to gather up edible plants while she would hunt very far away. And after, she would make sure that Prim didn’t get a good look inside the game bag when they headed home.

Gale probably would have benefited from her instruction, too, but he was just slightly too proud to accept her help when she gave him one of her father’s bows in exchange for lessons on how to set some of his perfect snares. He would put her to work, most of the time, much like she would with her sister, and go to practice his shooting in privacy. He certainly didn’t go hungry because he didn’t let her teach him how, for example, he needed to stand. He was a good shot. The best in the District, surely, now that Katniss is gone.

**  
  
**

Unless they hire someone who works at the shooting range, Peeta has no real choice but to let Katniss give him his lessons. She promised, anyway, and with the fine line they’ve been teetering on ever since their conversation, she likes the thought of being able to do something with him.

But he doesn’t like it. Not that he says so, of course. To his credit, he seems to be trying really hard to enjoy the shooting, but she can tell that this isn’t the sort of thing he would  choose to do on his own.

“Maybe I just can’t,” he says after he misses yet another shot. She frowns. “Some people don’t have the hunter gene, you know.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to teach you to shoot.”

He gives her a tiny little smile, and she watches while he takes her advice, trying to figure out what it is that they’re doing wrong. He adjusts his footing – over and over again – and relaxes back into her touch when she puts her arms over his own in an attempt to guide him. “You have to hold it just right,” she says. “Not too tightly. But not loosely, either, or you’ll drop it.”

He cranes his neck, trying to look over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“It’s natural for me,” she says. “But I’ve been doing it longer. Okay. Eyes ahead. You have to see your target, you know.”

This shot, like the others before it, doesn’t hit any of the circles of the target. But it does stick to the wood that the bulls’-eye is painted on. A shot like that would never do any good if they were hunting, but they aren’t hunting, and Peeta’s shoulders slump forward as if he’s taking his lack of aim personally.

“Hey!” she says. “That was great!”

He laughs. “That’s good? Then what are you?”

“Practiced,” she says. “I have been doing this a while, you know.”

“Excellent,” he says. It confuses her, but only for a second, because he nods towards her and clarifies. “You’re excellent. And even that feels like an understatement – but you are a good teacher. How did I ever get to be so lucky?”

She rolls her eyes. “Flatterer.”

“Actually, I’m telling the truth – I don’t think that counts as flattery, exactly, if they’re just compliments.”

“Complimenter,” she tries, and he laughs.

“I’ll give you that one,” he says with a crooked smile, handing the bow over. “Come on, archer. Show me how it’s done.”

* * *

 

Nearly all of her time in the Capitol has been spent alone with Peeta. At the apartment, shopping, even at work, Peeta is the one she generally attaches herself to. But it is strange for the two of them to be the only ones in the bakery.

Everyone else works until the end of the shift, but, as he has been these last few days, Peeta is pushing himself to make sure that the decorations for this wedding cake are perfect. He asks – so shyly, as if he thought that she would say no – if she would mind staying a little while longer, just so that he could finish the pink roses.

“He’s like this every time we get a cake order,” Rye says. “Wants it to be absolutely amazing. Doesn’t hurt that this is the biggest order we’ve had in ages. But Scar and I can take you back to the apartment if you don’t wanna sit and watch loverboy frost.”

Peeta glances up at her, as if he thinks she might say yes, and as if it would be perfectly fine if she did. “I want to stay here,” she says. “Thank you for offering, though.”

“Of course,” Scarlett says. “Hey, don’t let him work himself into the ground tonight, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Katniss says, climbing up into the tall stool beside his at the stainless steel table he’s been working at nearly all day long. Mr. Mellark offers to let her into the house upstairs, to watch television while Peeta works, but Katniss is more than happy to keep her distance from Peeta’s mother, so she sticks to her choice of staying with Peeta.

There’s nothing to do, really. They didn’t realize that they would be staying late, so she didn’t bring her letter writing supplies. She steals a glance at the little reference sketch Peeta has on the stainless steel table he’s working at and realizes why Peeta is wanting to work overtime. The cake is to be a three-tiere thing, and the flowers are meant to cascade down and cover nearly the entire surface. She climbs up onto the stool beside his, legs dangling, and watches him while he works.

His hands are remarkably steady. He pipes flower after flower onto the little wax paper squares, and when he starts to run low, Katniss makes herself useful, cutting more for him to use.

“Do you want to switch?” Peeta offers when he notices what she’s doing.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to make those ones.”

“Oh, man. It would really be great if you had married a baker,” Peeta says, giving her an almost convincing frown. It makes her laugh, but him referring to them as being married makes something deep in her chest flutter. He’s given her little touches since their conversation, but other than chase little goodnight and forehead kisses, they haven’t been overly affectionate.

And she’s missed it. It’s par for the course with Peeta, him waiting for her to set the pace of what they’ve done, but she’s not sure how to really get her point across. “I don’t want to slow you down. Clearly, you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight.”

“You could make us twice as fast,” he counters. “You’re really good at making the rosebuds.”

“That’s just because those are the easy ones.”

“Or because you’re a fast learner,” he says.

“You really want to teach me, don’t you?” she asks. “Why?”

He shrugs and looks back down at his work. She sweeps the pile of paper over towards him. “You taught me to swim,” he says. “Why did you do that?”

“Because we were at a lake. And you didn’t know how to swim.”

He shakes his head.

“Wrong answer?” she asks.

“Because it’s what you love to do,” Peeta says. “Or, at least, I thought so, watching you out there that day. It was the first time I saw you really happy after you got here. Diving down so long that I would almost worry, but then you’d smile when you came up. And it was like . . . it was like you were so happy in that moment. And the idea that you could be happy here was a pretty great one at that point.”

It’s quiet. She looks at him, but he’s focused on his work.

“And I knew . . . I knew that it was something special when you offered to teach me to swim. That even if you didn’t trust me yet, you at least liked me a little bit. And the archery, too! That’s something you love, and for you to be willing to share it with me . . .”  

“So this is what you love to do?” she asks. “Work?”

“Oh. Well, that makes me sound remarkably boring,” he says. “But yeah. I guess so. Stuff like this.” He gestures around, as if she might not know what he’s talking about. “Working on cake orders – Rye’s right. Wedding cakes are my favorite. But it’s such a big thing to be entrusted with. Such a big part of the happiest day of someone’s life.” He shrugs. “And I like to spend time with you.”

He reaches over and squeezes her knee. The touch only lingers for a moment, but there’s something about the feeling of the touch that she can’t quite shake. Something that’s warm and attached to a rush of . . . something . . . that she can’t quite name.

“I guess what I’m saying is that there are much worse ways to spend an evening,” he says, finally facing her.

She doesn’t realize what she’s doing until she leans in.

“Is your father going to come down any time soon, do you think?” she asks, and she hears the frosting bag clatter against the table in his haste to put it down.

“Oh. No. No, he’s probably asleep in front of the TV by now,” Peeta says, and then his face scrunches around, as if he’s said the wrong thing. “Wow. Okay. Way to ruin the moment, right?”

She laughs. “At least I didn’t ask about your mother,” she says, her voice low, just in case.

“Let me try again,” he says, and his hand comes to rest on the side of her face. It’s not the way that they were positioned before, but she doesn’t complain. “Go on, ask.”

“Right,” she says. “Is your father . . . will he come in any time soon?”

He shakes his head. Leans his head a little closer to hers. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

It’s still funny. Too rehearsed, this time, rather than too focused on his father. But that doesn’t stop her from kissing him.

Or him from kissing back. If she wasn’t perched on a stool, she would melt into his touch, because though he’s still touched her throughout the last couple of days, it hasn’t been like this.

She’s distracting Peeta from his work, but he doesn’t seem to be ready to complain about that. “I want – I want to change my answer,” he manages between kisses.

“Hmm?” she asks, pulling back.

“You asked me what I love to do. And I like that much more than I like frosting. So that’s my answer. This is what I love to do.”

She laughs. “I kept wondering when you were gonna do it again.”

“The kissing?” he asks. “Oh. I thought . . . considering . . .”

“I know,” she says. “But if you like it as much as I do . . . then there’s really no reason for you to hold back, right?”

He grins at her. “No. Not really,” he agrees, and then presses another little kiss against her lips before he gets back to work on the flowers. “I wanted to make you a wedding cake.”

“You did?”

“I did,” he says, and just like the story about the letter, it takes her off guard. “But I didn’t know what you’d like. Then Dad told me not to overwhelm you, and . . . I figured maybe it’d be better to wait. Make your favorite for your birthday, or an anniversary or something.”

She moves her stool a little closer to his and rests her head on his shoulder. “Is this gonna mess you up?”

“Nope,” he says.

“Good. I wasn’t really planning on moving.”

* * *

 

They don’t normally speak much in the mornings – not when they first wake up, at least. So it surprises her when Peeta clears his throat as soon as she starts to sit up.

“You said my name last night,” he informs her. His tone is conversational, but she can tell how excited he is to tell her this, because he’s grinning. She wonders how long he’s been up.

“What? No, I didn’t,” she protests. “You were probably just dreaming.”

“Nope,” he says. “I woke up and I was on my back – I must have rolled over or something, but clearly you didn’t like it, because you tugged at my shirt and you said my name. And I thought maybe you were having a nightmare . . . except you usually call for Prim. And besides, you seemed okay when I rolled over and snuggled up against you.”

She’s blushing. She’s sure of it. And she’s embarrassed, even though he’s probably teasing her just to get this reaction out of her.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have rolled away, then.”

“Oh, Katniss, I’m not complaining about you saying my name. In fact, I’m thinking of rolling away more often,” he says. “I mean, if that’s the kind of reaction sleepy Katniss is gonna give me . . .”

 

* * *

 

**  
  
**

He’s making breakfast when it fully hits her how different this life is than the last few months she spent in District Twelve were. This, her being in the Capitol with a man who spoils her with kisses and touches and – better still – food, more than she could ever have even dreamed of in the worst days back in District Twelve, all piled high on her plate in the mornings without fail, it all feels like a story that the merchants would read back in District Twelve.

Like one of the novels with a woman in a white dress on the cover that they would pass around during lunch at school, tittering at whatever was hidden in the pages. People from the Seam didn’t waste their time on stories longer than ones that were meant to be passed on to their children. Fairytales and stories about long lost family members, all short enough to serve as bedtime stories.

Peeta has books in the apartment. She’s seen recipe books in the cabinets – not that he seems to really need them – and a whole shelf of them on the TV stand. It seems like a silly place for them, taking up room that seems to be dedicated for movies, but that’s where he keeps them. They’re novels, she bets. Silly stories. Probably even sillier than the ones that the blonde girls would blush about. She could read anything she wanted to, now. Could read every book in the apartment and he’d probably go out to buy her more, just to see her smile.

Books would have been useful all those months ago. She would have tried to sell them at the Hob. Or given the pages to Prim to write on for school. Or fed the book to the fire in an attempt to get the flames to burn just a little bit longer. To provide just a little bit more heat. Her life was worse before Peeta was a part of it, even just in the form of the payments the Capitol gave her for making herself an option to him.

Does he know? Does he know how miserable and hungry and miserable she was before he met her? He couldn’t possibly. Not if his father kept his memories of District Twelve secret, like she thinks that he did. She would tell him if he asked, probably. But for now, she likes the idea of Peeta not having to know about how wretched those empty, hollow days were.

She doesn’t have many ways to spoil him back. She takes her chances where she gets them.

 

* * *

 

They put an offer in on the house that they liked. The thought of not getting it makes her nervous. Peeta doesn’t seem to think that’s even a possibility. He tells her that no one loves that house as much as they do, so of course they’ll get it.

She wonders what her father might think of this. Of her settling in, living in the Capitol, not-so-patiently waiting to hear about the house that they want to move into so far away from any life her father might have wanted for her. Would he like Peeta? Or would he hate him just for being from the Capitol? Her father used to trade with the merchants, but they made a living that way. He may have just been cautious not to speak the way the other miners did in front of his impressionable daughters. She remembers him talking to her mother one night, his voice quiet, and saying that the people in the Capitol were the ones who were fat and happy while all the rest of them starved.

That would be the two of them. Maybe that’s the real question. Not whether he would like the situation or Peeta, but whether or not he would like her. A Capitolite’s wife, happy and getting fat. Sitting on the bathroom sink while her husband shaves, only half listening to the story he’s telling about his brother’s wedding. She shouldn’t like him. She should be in the bedroom. Or in the kitchen, or the living room. She shouldn’t be laughing and talking with him.

“Hey,” Peeta says when they head out to the kitchen. “What’s the matter?”

“What?” she asks, turning to look at him. He motions towards her bottom lip, and she tastes the blood when she runs her tongue over it. She’s chewed her lip raw, then. “Oh. I was just thinking.”

“I kinda guessed that,” Peeta says. “If you want to talk about it . . .”

“I worry, sometimes – a lot, actually – that I like you too much.”

He’s concerned, but also fighting a smile. “Too much?” he asks.

“Way too much,” she confirms.

He smiles in earnest now, and it’s so contagious that she can’t help herself but to return it.

“I think I can live with that,” Peeta says. “Unless there’s something I’m not getting, here, I mean.”

  
There’s that guarded look from before, hidden in the twitch of his eyebrows. And she finds it so endearing that she forgets about the hypotheticals for a second. “No,” she says honestly. “I think I can live with it, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the insane wait! School, and a week long headache managed to knock me flat on my back.


	25. Chapter 25

Nearly as soon as they get the news that the brick house is theirs, Peeta cancels the cable service. It’s a little bit funny. He seems to think that she’s more fond of the shows that they watch than she is, because he tries to assure her that they can still watch movies. But really, she isn’t all that concerned about spending evenings with Peeta without the TV playing.   
  
It’s not as if they aren’t spending all of their free time packing things up, anyway. She doesn’t mind it, either. There’s plenty of work to do. Peeta has all sorts of things to box up, and he’s particularly meticulous about the way that things are done. In fact, it’s the most fussy he’s been since she’s known him. Everything has to be packed in just the right box, and in addition to having the contents of the box marked on the top along with the room it’s meant to go in, he runs a list on his phone with the location of important items.   
  
They start in the kitchen. He stands on a stepstool and passes her cookbook after cookbook from the cabinet above the stove. She’s been packing them dutifully away into the box that he’s already marked **cookbooks (kitchen)**. He keeps her entertained, as always, telling stories and cracking jokes. He even takes it well when she teases about the way he insists on things being packed. So well, in fact, that it’s hardly even fun to joke about it.   
  
He must know. Must be able to tell, by now, when she’s being silly.   
  
  
Once they start packing his more personal belongings, from the bedroom and the living room, she gets the full backstory of nearly every object that’s ever had any importance to him. They all seem to start with _“Oh, man! I can’t believe I kept this!”  
  
_ It’s a funny thing, his nostalgia. She can’t understand it, but that may be because she’s never had _things_ before. Never had anything except for her memories to reminisce on.   
  
This is almost enough to make her wish that she did. That she had something to show Peeta from her childhood, other than a few threadbare shirts that once belonged to her father. She can’t help but to wonder if she’s going to feel that way, someday, when she looks at the back of her plant book. If the dandelions and sunflowers and daisies will make her sentimental one day. She’s never been much for nostalgia, but she’s never had _things_ , either. Not really. Not like Peeta.   
  
  
“Where should this go?” she asks when she finds the huge book on a high shelf in his closet. “I was thinking the _closet_ box, but we don’t have one.”   
  
“It’s a system, Katniss,” he reminds her. He must know that she’s teasing him, because he sounds almost _too_ patient. She knows that it’s a system. He’s told her this about a dozen times, now. And he _does_ have a system. It’s just slightly too complicated for her liking.   
  
“Well, where does your system want this?” she asks, holding it up. He looks up from the crate that he’s been unpacking -- just to repack. Another part of the system -- and grins.   
  
“Hey! That’s where that went!” he says. “Come here.”   
  
She does, and he pats the floor beside him, so she sits beside him. “What is it?”   
  
“It’s my yearbook,” he says. “Or, well, one of them. I think the others are in storage. But then, who knows, right? I didn’t think I left this one out.”   
  
“Yearbook?” she asks, passing it over. “What is it?”   
  
He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in a little closer. She rests her head on his chest and lets him show her everything in the book, starting with the messages his friends wrote. He goes through and shows her everyone of any importance, so that she can put faces to the names he tells her about. She doesn’t pay too much attention to them, though. She’s just itching to see what Peeta looked like a few years ago.   


She recognizes him before she even sees _Peeta Mellark_ printed under the picture. The boy is unmistakably him. The glasses he wears in the picture have thicker frames than the ones he wears now, and his hair was much shorter than it is now. So much so that it didn’t even have room to curl.   
  
“Dark days,” he jokes with a little chuckle.   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Oh. Just . . . the hair. And the glasses.”   
  
“You don’t like your glasses?” she asks.   
  
“Not too much,” he says. “Then again, I never really have. Except maybe when I first got them, and I was amazed at how _clear_ everything looked.”   
  
“I like the glasses,” she says, and he looks surprised. She’s not sure why. Maybe he assumed that she didn’t. But, if anything, it’s the way he smiles that spurs her on. “I do. The old ones and the ones you wear now. They look good on you.”   
  
“Well,” Peeta says, grinning. “I’ll have to wear them more often, then.”   
  
He does. For days after that conversation, the case for his contact lenses remains untouched on the counter.   
  
Her other favorite day happens while they’re packing, too. Or, rather, while Peeta is packing, and she’s thinking about how little she wants to pack. They had agreed that they would spend their day off getting ready to move, and that’s what Peeta is doing right beside her. She wouldn’t mind boxing up their clothes at all, if Peeta hadn’t insisted on giving her a box of her own.

 

There’s no way that she has enough stuff to fill an entire box. That doesn’t even really matter. She has nowhere near as much stuff as he does — as evidenced by all of the boxes that they’ve filled over the last couple of weeks. But Peeta was as optimistic as ever when she tried to say that she’d just put her clothes with his.

  
So, she’s a little bit afraid that her box won’t be full. It’s a silly fear, really.but it’s not for her sake. She never wants to be the reason that Peeta loses his optimism. She stalls, instead. Takes all of her clothing out of the dresser and the closet. Looks through it. Holds a few pieces up and says that it’s a shame it got so warm so fast, before she could wear all of the sweaters he bought her.   
  
If nothing else, her clothes are on the floor. She even took her dresses down. But she doesn’t want to pack at all. She catches sight of the picture of Peeta and his brothers on top of the dresser and stands up just enough to pull it down. “Did you want to go ahead and pack this now?” she asks when she sits back down, but she doesn’t offer it up just yet. Peeta really does look genuinely happy in the picture. And now that she knows it’s from a wrestling match, she recognizes the outfits he and Rye are wearing. They wore the same kind in District Twelve.

 

“What’s this called?” she asks, tapping at the picture.

 

“The headlock? Or the singlet?” he asks.

 

 _Singlet_. “My school had them,” she says. “For all the wrestlers.”

 

She’s not sure what prompts her to keep pressing, but she does.

  
“So, did you like it, then?” she asks. “The wrestling, I mean.”

 

“I did,” he says. “Why?”

   
“It’s just . . . you never talk about it, really. But you look happy here. Which, considering the fact that you said you lost . . .”   
  
He drops his head down to his hands, groaning dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? Even from my wife! Rye and I are gonna have to have a talk.”   
  
She laughs. “You told me. It was one of the first things we really talked about.”   
  
He looks up at her through the crack between his fingers. “Oh. Yeah. I guess you’re right.”   
  
“Of course I am. The question still stands. Were you really happy?”   
  
“Yeah,” he says. “I was happy. It was such a big deal, it coming down to the two of us. And Rye was much better than me. I mean, I wasn’t _bad_ \-- I did make it to the final round, after all.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “Definitely.”   
  
“But Rye just had a knack for it. You know?” he asks.   
  
“Not really,” she admits. “I didn’t realize that was the sort of thing you could have a _knack_ for. Knocking people over and holding them down.”   
  
His jaw drops in mock-offense. “Oh, Katniss. Katniss, Katniss, Katniss.”  
  
“What?” she asks.   
  
“It’s not like it’s _easy_. It takes skill. And practice. You don’t just knock people over. You have to have other things working for you, too. Like, for instance, the element of surprise.”   
  
She tenses. She’s not sure why. Maybe she’s expecting for him to tackle her or something. But he doesn’t, he just goes back to folding his clothes.   
  
“But, as you may have noticed, Rye never did anything with it. Mom and Dad think it’s a shame, because he could’ve totally gotten a scholarship if he wanted one. He just never had anything he wanted to study. Mom would’ve been happy with anything if it would’ve gotten him a Capitolite for a wife.”   
  
“So he really didn’t like it that much?” she guesses, ignoring the apologetic look he gives her after the last part. She’s far from thinking anything good about the woman, and she knows it’s mutual. His mother doesn’t like her much, either.   
  
“Nope. He just liked having something to get him out of the house during the week. We all did, really. Anyway, everyone was really excited about the match. They were chanting and cheering and I think my parents even stood up in the bleachers to get a better look.”

   
“So you were happy. Not just smiling for the camera.”

 

He laughs. “I gotta ask, Katniss. Why the sudden interest in my wrestling career?”

 

“Just wondering,” she says. “I think I would’ve liked to see you in a match.”

 

She looks down at the picture and then sets in Peeta’s box, on top of his clothes.  He has more to pack, but the clothing on top of it should cushion it, and make sure that the glass doesn’t break. At least, she hopes so.

 

“So you’re not angling for a demonstration?” he asks, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Or I could teach you, maybe. I mean, you’ve certainly taught me enough stuff to warrant a couple of lessons.”   
  
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t underestimate me, Peeta. They had wrestling in Twelve, you know.”   
  
His eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you wrestled.”   
  
She looks away. “I watched a lot of tournaments. Every single year.”   
  
That makes him laugh, and it’s a warm, contagious sound that settles somewhere below her ribs. “Well, if you watched the tournaments . . .” he jokes. “No. I knew they had wrestling in Twelve. Us kids only really got into it because Dad used to do it when he was in school. It came time for Dylan to want to do an extracurricular, and dad _may_ have pressured him a little bit. But he wanted to be like Dad, and Rye wanted to be like Dylan, and it was just sort of something that the Mellark boys _did_ by the time I got old enough.”   
  
“So you didn’t want to be like Rye?” she asks.   
  
He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe a little. But that really can’t leave this room. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”  
  
“You have my word,” she says, grinning. It isn’t really a secret, but it’s not a bad thought, him wanting to trust her with things like that.   
  
“Yeah. So, before they knew it, my parents had a house full of wrestlers. Which Mom _hated_ , by the way.”   
  
“Did they not -?”   
  
That’s when he pounces on her. He moves quickly, and even in his excitement, he cups the back of her head with his hand, lowering it down gently so that it doesn’t hit the floor too hard. He braces himself just above her, shins and forearms firmly planted on the floor on either side of her. She surprises them both by _giggling_.   
  
She didn’t even realize that she was capable of giggling, really. He responds with a laugh of his own, and then sobers up for a moment.   
  
“Is this . . . um, is this okay?”   
  
She huffs in agitation that she doesn’t feel at all. “You just caught me off guard,” she says.   
  
“Oh, I’m sure,” he says, looking so earnest that she almost believes him. “You could probably get out, too, if you really wanted.” His head drops down a little bit. She can feel his breath on her neck with the next words. “Since, you know, wrestling is so easy.”

  
She wriggles, trying to get away, but it’s no use. He has her pinned. And he doesn’t even have his body weight on her.   
  
  
“Probably,” she says, but when she presses her palms against his chest, she’s met with much more resistance than she had expected.   
  
  
“I could do this all day, Katniss,” he says.

 

For some reason, that thought doesn't bother her at all.   
She's surprised to realize that she doesn't really want to move. In fact, the only thing remotely uncomfortable about this position is the button that's digging into her back from a shirt. She shifts a little bit to dislodge it and then looks up at him, chin raised stubbornly.

 

“Didn't realize you were doing anything.”

 

“Oh, now you've done it,” he says, grinning as he pulls back. Enough to look at her but not enough to let her free. He's practically sitting on her legs, even if his weight is braced on his shins. In all her wriggling, her shirt has inched up to reveal some of the skin of her midriff. He glances up at her, as if asking permission. As soon as she nods, she feels his fingers brush against the skin on her belly.

 

The muscles there contract. He hesitates, and then resumes the little touches. Before, she had thought his hands were so soft. But now they're rough, yet not unpleasant.

 

“Feels good,” she says, even if it does tickle. “You know. I was wondering what you were gonna do with me. Since you got me and all.”

 

“I've got a few ideas,” he says. She’s not sure why the words send a little shudder through her, but they do. Peeta uses the hand that had been resting on her belly to -- very gently -- run his fingers down a lock of her hair, following it down to where you it meets her skin.  Her eyes close at the soft touch, and he sighs happily. “I love it when you leave your hair down,” he admits, his voice slightly hushed. “It just . . .”   
  
“What?” She bites her bottom lip.   
  
“You’re just so beautiful,” he says, leaning forward. Back into his earlier position. “And, I mean, it’s not that I _don’t_ like it in the braid,” he says, maybe a little shy and definitely _very_ pink. She can’t help but to like it. To like being the one to have this effect on him. “I like it no matter what.”   
  
She rolls her eyes. “You know you’re not gonna offend me by complimenting my hair, right?”   
  
He gives her a sheepish little smile. And when he leans down, he’s probably aiming for her cheek, but she turns her head. Peeta certainly doesn’t seem to mind getting her lips. She doesn’t mind this either. Not in the slightest.   
  
It’s like kissing in the bed. But better, somehow. She wasn't entirely sure that was possible. But it is. He has a way of kissing her senseless, and this is no exception.

 

She isn't completely pinned. She has more than enough room to lean up and return the kiss. And she uses it. He makes a couple of attempts at speaking, but she doesn't stop long enough to let him.

 

“First lesson,” he finally manages. “Your opponent is more easily taken down when they're off guard.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” She angles her head up, more than ready to get back to business, but he pulls away just a little more.

 

“C'mon,” he prompts. “I'm about as off guard as they come.”

 

She rolls her eyes.   
  
“Come on,” Peeta says. “Give it a shot. For a hunter like you, this ought to be nothing. I’d bet that - _uff_.” He goes down far too easily when she wraps her legs around his and tries to roll over. Maybe it ought to bother her, him going easy on her, but it doesn’t. So ends up on top of him.   
  
Only, she’s not sure what to do. “Lesson two?” she asks hopefully.   
  
She shakes his head, grinning. “You’re on your own. You’ve got me. Now you’ve got to figure out what you’re going to do with me.”   
  
He’s teasing. Clearly. Copying what she said earlier.   
  
But two can play at that game. “I have a few ideas.”   
  
Peeta swallows hard. “You had better move fast, then. Make sure I can’t get up.”   


“I think I can do that,” she says, and leans down to kiss him again.

 

  


Peeta’s optimism ends up paying off. She never thought that she would have enough to fill the box, until she does. She smiles far too widely when, with her plant book and bag on top, the box is full enough that it doesn’t need anything of Peeta’s in it.

 

She knows that it’s a silly thing to be happy about. Knows that Peeta has filled plenty of boxes in the last few days. That she’s helped with a lot of them. And though she feels accomplished, Peeta is the one that bought her all of the clothing. That’s been spoiling her.

 

She can practically feel his eyes on her when she -- finally -- fills the box. Sure enough, he’s watching when she steals a glance up at him, and the smile on his face is sort of a relief. It makes her feel less ridiculous. “I’ve never had _things_ before,” before, she says, giving him an explanation even though he doesn’t seem to be asking for one. “Not really. At least, not anything that was mine to begin with.”

 

She looks down at the box, and a piece of hair falls from her braid. Peeta’s touch is feather-light as he tucks it behind her ear.

 

“You do now,” he says. There’s something in his voice that tells her that he’d give her anything in the world, if she’d just ask him for it. Then he inches his marker towards her, and she lets out a little laugh.

 

She writes her name on the box in little block letters and hands the marker back. When he inches towards her, she expects for him to write **_clothes (master bedroom)_** underneath her inscription, but instead, he takes the cap off with his teeth, the way she’s seen him do dozens of times, and adds three exclamation points. It’s contagious, his excitement. But he still looks a little guarded when she laughs. Like maybe he thinks she’s making fun of him.

  
But that’s not the case. It’s endearing. He really can’t wait to move into the house. To _their_ house. She’s excited, too, now that she’s sure that this is something that’s going to happen. She and Peeta sealed the deal with the real estate agent, and she pretended that she wasn’t happy for them to not have to interact with the woman again anytime soon.   
  
So she takes the marker from his hand before he has the chance to put the cap back on and adds a couple of exclamation points of her own. His handwriting is much better than hers, and it’s clear even just in their punctuation. But she gets her point across well enough, if the far too noisy kiss he presses into the side of her head is any indication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did we finally earn the T??


	26. Chapter 26

She expects for Peeta to be in bed when she gets out of the shower, but he isn’t. She towels her hair as dry as she can and then heads out to the kitchen. She’s a little bit surprised to find him standing at the counter, mixer out in front of him.

 

“Didn’t you say we should get some sleep?” she asks lightly. “I seem to remember something about us having a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

 

Peeta laughs. “We do. But I thought we could get more sleep if I put breakfast together ahead of time.”

 

“Oh, I like the way you think,” she says, and then can’t help but to smile when she sees that he’s making cheese buns. “Don’t they take a while, though? I’m not sure it works if we have to stay up late.”

 

“Not if we bake them in the morning.”

 

“You aren’t making them tonight?” she asks, pushing her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. Prim used to make this face, sometimes.

 

Peeta laughs and reaches a floury finger out to touch her bottom lip. “Patience,” he chides. “Think about how nice these are gonna smell in the morning.”

 

She sighs. “You drive a hard bargain.”

 

“And you’re cute when you pout,” he says. “I could stick a couple of them in.”

 

She considers it for a minute and then shakes her head. “I brushed my teeth. I don’t think they’ll taste as good right now.”

 

“You sure?” Peeta asks.

 

She nods. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she hears her mother talking about how she always ate like she would never see food again. That version of herself would think she was ridiculous for passing up the opportunity to eat just because she trusted that it would be there in the morning.   
  
Because she trusted that Peeta would have the food there in the morning.

  


Usually, it’s something unpleasant that keeps her awake at night. Nightmares have been the only thing that have managed to really disturb her sleep after the first few nights here in the Capitol, but back in District Twelve she spent countless nights curled up on her side of the bed, listening to the soft sounds of her family sleeping and worrying. About whether she’ll have time to hunt _and_ trade at the Hob after her shift in the mines. Or if she’ll even come home with enough game to feed her family.

 

But tonight is different. Tonight, she isn’t thinking about her nightmares, and she isn’t worrying. She can’t sleep because she’s excited to wake up in the morning, and not just because of the promise of cheese buns.   
  
She's also excited about moving into the new house. Their new house. She's only ever lived in someone else's house, but Peeta is adamant that this is going to be their place. They’re going to decorate it together. Peeta called it making it a home. Their home. She’s more excited than she would have ever thought possible.

 

She even wriggles her toes, as if that’s going to work some of the energy out and let her sleep. She can feel Peeta’s breath on her neck, even enough that he might be sleeping. She’s not sure if she believes that he is or not. How could he sleep on a night like this? Maybe he’s awake, and just doesn’t want to wake her.

 

That seems to be the most likely. Sleep would be hard enough to come by tonight even without the anticipation. They decided, for some reason that she can’t remember now, that it was a good idea to pack up the curtains before bed. It had been her suggestion, folding them up and dropping them into one of the last minute boxes that Peeta dislikes so much. She regrets it now, because all she can really focus on when she tries to sleep is the sound of the traffic that never seems to let up around here. And the light that glares into the room from below. She turns over to face him, so that she can bury her face in his chest and block the light out the way that she usually does in the mornings, but he’s already awake. Just like she thought he might be.

 

He smiles at her. “Hey there.”

 

“Hey,” she returns, propping herself up on one shoulder. There’s no reason for them to be so quiet. They’re the only two in the house. But she’s quiet anyway. It’s late enough that it feels like if they have to speak, they ought to be whispering. “Can’t sleep?”

 

“Oh, of course not,” Peeta says. “I’m way too excited.”

 

“Me, too,” she admits.

  
“It’s _tomorrow_.”

 

It’s funny, the way he emphasizes it. As if she might now know when they’re moving. “I haven’t been anywhere near this excited since the night before you got here.”

 

She smiles before she can help herself. Is this what that night was like for him? Her heart clenches at the thought of him lying awake in bed before she was there to share it with him, but not in a sad sort of way. She almost wishes that she hadn’t turned to face him, because she feels silly about how wide her smile is.

 

He seems pleased, but doesn’t bring it up.  “How are you feeling, as far as leaving goes?” he asks instead, reaching over to brush a piece of hair away from her eyes. That’s one of the benefits on the days when she remembers to take her hair out of the braid. He can’t keep his hands to himself when she leaves it down. “Are you at all nervous?”

 

She shakes her head. Should she be nervous? She really hadn’t realized that it was an option. “Why would I be nervous?”

 

“I don’t know,” he says. “This place has been pretty consistently good. At least, I hope so. I just that mean that we haven’t had a bad day here. Unlike, say, when your arm got burned at the bakery.”

 

She nods. “Oh. But, you know that the good days I had . . .” she trails off. Almost loses her nerve. He’s watching her so intently that it’s almost too much. But if he thinks that spending the day in the apartment is what they have to thank for the good days, then he’s wrong. And it’s not like he shies away from telling her anything nice. So she just focuses on his shirt so that she doesn’t have to meet his eyes. “Peeta, you’re the reason those days were good. Not this place.”

 

It’s quiet for a long moment. It’s like he knows that she’s too embarrassed to look at him, because he uses a finger to tilt her chin up. So that she can see the way that he’s smiling, probably. He looks so happy. If she didn’t know better, she would think that she’s just said something amazing. “Thank you,” he says, his voice somehow even quieter than it was before.

 

There’s that feeling in her chest again. That same rush of affection that she felt earlier, when he mentioned waiting for her to get here. Is this the way that he feels when he makes her smile? No wonder he’s always trying to make her happy.

 

Still, this is close to being too much. “What about you?” she asks, ready to change the subject. “How do you feel about leaving?”

 

“I’m excited,” he says.

 

“You’ve lived here a while, though, right? Shouldn’t you be sad?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve been here a while. But I’m ready to go. Ready for us to have a place together.”

 

“Oh,” she says. “You’re not moving because of me, are you?” The thought hadn’t really crossed her mind, but now that it has, she can’t help but to feel guilty. Hadn’t he said that he used to really like this place? Does he think that she doesn’t think it’s good enough? That would make sense, with how much daydreaming they did about the house.

 

“What? No. Of course not,” Peeta says. “I’ve always wanted a house. This place was only ever supposed to be sort of a stepping stone, so that I could get to that point, somehow.”

 

“What do you mean?” she asks.

 

“I was saving up,” he says. “That’s why I moved into this place. It was affordable. Much more so than my first place was.”

 

“Your first place?”

 

He launches into a story that she can’t help but to think he’s been waiting to tell. “Okay, so, the one thing about us not meeting earlier than we did is that I was such an idiot. Dad’s whole spiel when we were growing up was about saving up and all that. Only, I moved out right after high school. So I took the money that I saved up when I was living – and working – at home, and I managed to lie to myself and say that I had enough money to swing this massive rent check for a place on the other side of town. It was huge. And ridiculous.”

 

“And this place isn’t big?” she asks, unable to help herself. “Sorry. This place is bigger than the house I lived in when I was in District Twelve.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Peeta says kindly. “I just don’t really know how to put it in perspective. The other place had a guest bedroom – which was ridiculous. It’s not like I had guests staying with me – and a separate kitchen and dining room. When I moved in here, Rye teased me. Called it a shoebox.”   


“Why did you move?” she asks.

 

“I realized I was lying to myself. I didn’t need to impress anyone with my apartment, for one, and for another, the bills from the hospital would have set me back even if I wasn’t throwing all my money into the apartment.”

 

Oh. The hospital. The accident. “You said you were eighteen?”

 

He nods. “Well, maybe nineteen. I can’t remember if the hospital bed revelation came before or after my birthday.”

 

She can’t remember her nineteenth birthday. Most likely, no one even noticed that it was passing. And yet, the thought of Peeta spending his birthday in the hospital makes her sad. “I’m sorry,” she says.

 

“Oh, it’s fine,” he says. “I mean, Dad helped me find this place. And thanks to my new habit of saving up all my extra money, I ended up with you.”

 

She can feel her cheeks warming. “I meant that you spent your birthday in the hospital.”

 

“That’s fine, too,” he says. “Actually, Finnick and Annie were there with me – and Rye, I think. This was before Scarlett – but we had hospital cafeteria pie and told stories.”

 

“That’s nice,” she says.

 

“That was the second valuable lesson that came from that. I learned that my real friends were the ones who weren’t leaving me alone to wallow.”

 

She nods. She didn’t dislike Finnick or Annie before, but there’s something about this story that makes her a little bit fonder of them. She’s grateful to them, for taking care of Peeta before she could.

 

“We got off track, though,” Peeta says. “To make a short story long, I’ve been wanting to move for a while, now. Like I said. Before you were even officially in the picture. And I may have been dropping hints that day, when I said I wanted to get you in a real house.”

 

“Yeah?” she asks.

 

“As long as that doesn’t make me sound like I was scheming,” Peeta says, slightly shy.

 

She shakes her head.

 

“I mean, I did want to move. But only if you wanted to move, too. Realizing I was bringing a wife back to this place kinda got me back into gear, as far as wanting to move goes.”

“Well, I did. So, does that mean you coordinated it? Ordering me and leaving the apartment.”

“Not exactly. I don’t know if I would have moved, but I wasn’t really looking forward to spending another year here. I’m not getting any younger, you know,” he jokes.

“This really isn’t a bad place,” she says. “I don’t mind it.”

“Oh? Did you want to stay? You really do need to learn to speak up, Katniss.”

She rolls her eyes at his teasing. “I’m ready. I want to move into our house.”

He beams when she calls it their house. She finds herself smiling, too.

“The good news is, now that there’s two of us, we can say we have a reason to upgrade,” he says, and then bites his lower lip. “I will miss this place a little,” he admits, his voice quiet. “I mean, this is where we had our first kiss.”

“Yeah, and the other forty nine,” she jokes. “And besides, we kissed on the couch. And we’re bringing that with us, right?”

“We’re not bringing the living room,” he says. “That’s where you kissed me.”

“On the couch¸ in the living room.”

“Yes. On the couch, in the living room,” he corrects. “You don’t get it.”

He repositions himself to get a better look at her. In the glare of light from the city, she can just barely make out his face. Can see the way he’s squinting at her, as if he can’t quite figure her out.

“When we kiss on the couch in the new house, it won’t be the same as kissing on the couch in this house. It won’t be the same living room, or the same building, or the same zip code,” he says.

When we kiss on the couch in the new house. The assumption makes her smile. But she’s quick to let a mask of indifference take over so she can tease him better. “Someone’s sentimental,” she says.

He almost seems convinced, but it only lasts for a moment. She can tell exactly when he figures her out, because his eyebrows go from being furrowed together to being raised. “Oh, come on,” he says. “You like it. You just can’t admit it ‘cause you wanna look tough,” he says.

She laughs. “You think I’m tough?”

“As _nails_ ,” he assures her, nodding resolutely. “But I also think you don’t mind being sentimental every now and then. At least, I hope you like it a little. ‘Cause being married to me is gonna be hard if you’re not into that.”

  
“More than a little,” she admits, because it’s late and she feels brave.   
  
He lets out a sigh of relief that’s so dramatic she just knows he’s faking it. “Good. Cause honestly, Katniss, I’m already looking forward to all the new memories we’ll make in the new house. New kisses. That sort of thing.”  


She smiles at the thought. “Yeah? Well, judging by what you’ve shown me, I can’t say it sounds like a bad thing, being part of one of your favorite memories.”   


That’s when he kisses her. It takes her a little bit by surprise, and it’s over nearly as soon as it starts. “You already are,” he assures her. “Every day I’ve spent with you.”  


She’s grateful for the dark, because she’s sure that she’s blushing.   
  


She’s not sure if she sleeps or not after that. It doesn’t seem like any time has passed at all when Peeta’s phone starts to chime. He groans and pulls his pillow over his head, and she tries not to laugh. She’s sleepy, anyway, and she’s not complaining about the extra moments of sleep.  
  
“I need to make friends who sleep in later,” he jokes.   


“Yeah. I was about to sleep, but _someone_ kept me up late.”  


He laughs. “Sure. _That’s_ how it happened.”   
  
She actually grins.   
  
“Come on! Let’s get up!” Peeta says, pulling himself out of bed. “We can sleep in tomorrow, if we get all our stuff moved,” he offers.   
  
_Right_. They’re moving. His enthusiasm is contagious, and she can’t help but to smile.   
  
She’s still in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, when the knock on the door comes. She hears Peeta head out, and the bedroom door click shut behind him. She takes her time braiding her hair. She probably shouldn’t listen in, but she does. Finnick cracks a joke that she can’t quite make out, and then laughs loudly. She listens for Peeta, but he must not think that it’s funny.   
  


She pulls on a pair of shorts, and realizes with a little sigh that all of her old shirts are packed up. It’s slightly too warm for any of the sweaters, and those ended up, somehow, on top of her box. The shirt that Peeta slept in, however, is on top of the bed. If they didn’t have company, she would ask, but he’s busy, and she really doesn’t want to have to unpack her box just to pack it up again. So she steals the plain gray shirt. It’s so big on her that her shorts don’t even show, so she frowns and ties some of the extra fabric up into a knot. The shirt still threatens to fall off of her shoulder, but she figures that it’s good enough. They _did_ finally just catch up on laundry, and it would be a shame to make more of a mess.   
  
Besides, she thinks. For whatever reason, Peeta’s clothing always ends up smelling better than hers.   
  
She can hear the others talking when she comes out, and she manages to creep into the kitchen nearly undetected. Finnick and Annie are already seated at the table, and Peeta is leaned against the counter beside the stove. She can smell the cheese buns baking, and decides that she’ll have to remember to tell Peeta that he was right about it being nice.   
  
The conversation quiets for a moment when she comes in. They all look at her for a moment too long, and she feels slightly out of place. They’ve known him longer, she reasons, it makes sense for her to be the odd one out.   
  
“Is this okay?” she asks, tugging at the hem of the shirt. “Mine are all packed away.”   
  
“Yeah, of course,” Peeta says with a warm smile that calms her nerves instantly. _Of course_ she belongs here. She’s his _wife._ Finnick snickers at some joke that she’s not a part of, and the look that Peeta shoots him makes it clear that she probably doesn’t want to know what it was. “It looks good on you.”   
  
“It does,” Annie says. “And it’s so comfortable, right? I’m always stealing Finnick’s shirts. So big and soft.”   
  
Finnick pouts. “I thought you liked them ‘cause they smelled like me.”   
  
“Does it smell like me?” Peeta asks. She feels herself blushing.   
  
“Yeah, fine. Maybe it’s that, too,” Annie says. They all laugh. It’s nice, being brought in on something that at least sounds like the easy conversation from earlier.  


“I’m about to make some eggs to go with the cheese buns,” Peeta says. “Get our energy up so we can move.”  


“Sounds good to me,” she says. “Anything I can do?”  


He hesitates. He’s still not particularly fond of bossing her around, no matter how much she wants to help, but they do have a bigger breakfast order than they usually do. “Yeah, actually. Do you mind cracking some eggs? I’m just gonna scramble them, if that’s okay with everyone.”  


It is. While he works, Finnick starts to tell stories about his job as a swimming instructor. Peeta rolls his eyes when Katniss looks over at him, and she knows that he’s already heard this before. Annie has, too, she realizes when she joins in at the very end, quoting along with Finnick when he talks about some ridiculous client he had.   


“What’s the plan for today?” she asks when Peeta comes and sets the pan of eggs down on the table.   


“Well,” he says. “We can load up both the truck and the car, which will probably make it easier. We can fit plenty of boxes in the back. So . . . Finnick and I can get the furniture into the bed of the truck, and maybe you and Annie can fill the car?”  


“Sounds good to me,” Annie says. “Then we can swap back before we drive. I’m sure you’re not ready to say goodbye to her for twenty minutes yet.”   


“More like I don’t trust you to drive my car,” Peeta teases, and Annie gasps in mock-offense.

 

They’re surprisingly easy to talk – and work – with. It’s not as bad as she thought it might be to go up and down the elevator without Peeta. Annie and Katniss make quick work of the car, maybe because they have less storage space. They end up catching up with Finnick and Peeta while they try to finagle both of the recliners into the bed of the truck.  


Peeta looks proud when he hops down. “Got it!”   


“Good job,” she says. “I didn’t think it was gonna fit.”  


He offers her a sheepish little smile. “Me neither.”

 

She can’t believe how excited she is. It’s not all that long of a drive from the apartment to the new house, but it seems to last for hours. But the for sale sign is replaced with a sold sign when they get there, and she leans over and gives Peeta a tiny little kiss at the sight of it.  


“Okay. Want a picture of you guys in front of the house?” Annie asks, and Katniss gets an idea. She grabs ahold of Peeta’s arm, maybe a little bit too tightly. He blinks down at her.  


“Yes?” he asks, maybe a little amused.   


“Could we send it to Prim?” she whispers. “I was trying to explain the house to her, but I’m no good. And she’d love to see you. . .”   


“Yeah, of course,” Peeta says, offering her a grin. He shoots Annie a thumbs-up, and they smile in front of the house. “Send those to me, please,” he says.   


“Sure,” Annie says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I’ll send it on the way home.”

 

The trips all start to blend together in her mind. It’s hard work, and while she likes to be able to tell that she’s actually helping with something, she’s already sort of exhausted. Her muscles are starting to ache from lugging boxes back and forth.

 

Finnick and Peeta look pretty miserable, themselves. They’ve been hefting the furniture around, and they only get more flushed as the day wears on and the sun gets higher. She and Annie take a break and unpack a couple of glasses from one of the kitchen boxes. She leaves a glass out for Peeta, but the tap water won’t stay cool for too long, so she doesn’t fill it.

 

She and Annie sit on the floor, backs against the cabinets, drinking their water. “He’s trying to impress you,” Annie says, maybe a little bit conspiratorially.

 

“What? Why?”

 

Annie raises his eyebrows, as if Katniss ought to know the answer. “You didn’t know him in high school.”

 

Right. And Annie did. Katniss pulls her knees up to her chest. “He says he was an idiot,” she says. It seems important to make sure that she knows that they talk about this sort of thing.

 

Annie laughs. “Kinda. But what teenage boy isn’t?” It’s quiet for a moment. Annie must realize that she’s not going to get the reaction that she thought she would, because she frowns. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s just, well, this isn’t really new for him.”

 

“What do you mean?” Katniss asks.

 

“Just that he was a massive overachiever. Extra credit, wrestling, the whole nine yards. Which I can sort of see today. He’s trying really hard to move a lot of stuff. Like with the recliner.”

 

That makes sense, but she’s not sure if she wants to know the answer to her next question. “Who was he trying to impress?”

 

“Depends on how you look at it,” Annie says, and Katniss’ stomach sort of drops. She shouldn’t have asked. “The easy answer would be that he wanted to impress his teachers, but my theory is that he wanted his parents to notice how hard he worked. Dylan was a really good student, and Peeta has always been sort of competitive. But he’s gotten better.”

 

This draws a smile out of her. “A little.”

 

Annie looks like she’s about to say something else, but then the door swings open and Finnick and Peeta are talking to each other, trying to figure out which way they have to pivot the couch in order to get it into the living room. Katniss stands up and goes to the entryway, watching them just in time to see them set the couch down.

 

“Katniss?” Peeta calls, clearly not realizing that she’s watching. That much is evidenced by the way he takes his shirt off and tosses it across the room. He looks exhausted. The heat must be miserable by now, if the way that the curls at his forehead stick there.

 

“Yes?” she asks, and he jumps at how close she is.

 

“Oh! Hey. Do you know where you want the couch?”

 

She shakes her head. “Like that is fine for now. You should take a break.”

 

“You sure?” he asks. “We can move it. We’re on a roll.”

 

“Ugh. Listen to the girl, Peeta,” Finnick says, flopping down on the couch. “You’re working me to death.”

 

He looks a little sheepish.

 

“Come here,” Katniss says, holding her half empty glass up. “Have some water. Sit down.”

 

He nods and follows her into the kitchen. He leans against the counter, and she knows that she’s probably not going to get him to sit down, so she just presses the water glass into his hand and goes to fill the other one.

 

“Did you happen to see the box with my shirts in it?” he asks. “I was gonna put another one on.”

 

“It’s around here somewhere,” she says. “You’re hot, though. So you shouldn’t worry about that.”

 

She freezes when she realizes what she said. Peeta stares at her for a long second. She can hear Finnick try and fail to stifle a laugh in the other room. “Get a room!” he calls.

 

“Finnick!” Annie calls, heading into the living room.

 

“I just . . . I meant to say that if you’re hot . . .” She shakes her head. That doesn’t help her case. “If it’s hot out, you shouldn’t hurry to find it.”

 

He nods, maybe a little bit dumbfounded. Her cheeks are burning, she’s so embarrassed. But she doesn’t exactly want to take it back, either. Not when it seems to be making him so happy, even though he’s trying to hide it.

 

Is she imagining it, or does he seem a little bit embarrassed, too? “

“I’m gonna –” she begins, but he reaches out and takes her hand.

 

“I know what you mean,” he says. “Thank you, Katniss.”

 

She nods. “We’ll move the couch later, okay?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” he says.

 

She thinks – hopes, really – that the embarrassment might be over when Peeta and Finnick go back out and Peeta is in a light blue shirt. Surely it can’t get worse than that. But Annie takes a long, hard look at her once they’re alone again, and she knows that it isn’t over.

 

“I was gonna say, before they came back in, that we love seeing the two of you together,” Annie says. “Especially today. You’re sweet, taking care of him like that.”

 

“Sweet?” Katniss isn’t sweet. She’s never been sweet. And what did she do, anyway? Give him a half empty glass of water?

 

“I’ve known Peeta for a long time, you know. That’s what I was getting at before. Why it’s so good to see him finally have someone who would even bother with that sort of thing. He’s never had someone to really take care of him.”

 

She shakes her head, not sure why Annie would lie to her. “He told me about you guys staying at the hospital with him. After the accident. You two took care of him then.”

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Annie says. “We were happy to sit with him, but we really shouldn’t have been the ones up there with him. Does that make sense? That’s where his track record is bad. The people who should have done this sort of thing really didn’t.”

 

Katniss barely has time to really hate Glimmer before she realizes that his parents really should have been a part of the story he told her. Why weren’t they there to keep him company? She feels anger flaring up inside of her - not just at his mother, but at his father, too.

 

And confusion. She might as well admit that’s there, too. How did someone so compassionate come from parents who couldn’t even be bothered to stay with him in the hospital? She swallows hard.

 

“Thank you for looking after him,” Katniss says, her voice too quiet. Too weak.

 

Annie nods. “He’s my best friend. And I’ve known him for a long time, so you can trust me when I say that I’ve never seen him like this before. He is so crazy about you.”

 

Katniss smiles.

 

“And this is probably a little bit selfish of me, but I am so glad that he married someone that I can like,” Annie adds, shooting Katniss a little grin. It’s the first time that anyone other than Peeta has made her feel like she belongs here.

  


“Should we have made them stay for dinner?” Peeta asks after Finnick and Annie leave.

 

She shakes her head. “We invited them. That’s all we could do.”

 

“Yeah, but I had kind of been thinking that it would be nice for it just to be the two of us for our first dinner here when we asked them. Think they could tell?”

 

She shakes her head. “We can’t be blamed for that.”

 

He grins.

 

“But , I mean, I don’t mind spending time with them,” she says. “I like them.”

 

“They like you, too, you know. I swear, that’s just about all Finnick wanted to talk about. Not that I minded.”

 

She actually laughs. “No?”

 

“No surprise there, I know,” he says, grinning.

 

“It’s okay. Annie and I talked about you. So it goes both ways.”

 

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t ask for details.

  


They’re still going to have to set up the bedframe and the headboard, and they both already showered and put their pajamas on by the time the pizza comes, so Katniss just has Peeta set the mattress in the middle of the room and digs through the boxes marked Bedding (master bedroom) until she finds enough blankets for them to sleep underneath.

 

“I wanted to carry you over the threshold,” Peeta admits, cupping his other hand under the one that holds his slice of Peeta, as if that’s going to keep the crumbs from getting on the bed. She just really didn’t want to sit on the floor. “Get us a perfect start. You know?”  


“There’s still time,” she says. “You can pick me up tomorrow. Unless I put on fifty pounds. You ordered way too much pizza.”   


“Well, they don’t usually say no when I offer them food!” Peeta protests. “It’s okay. I don’t mind this.”   


She rests her head on his shoulder. “I kinda like it. Let’s keep the room this way.”

 

He laughs. She knows that perfect is a silly word, but she can’t help but to think if there was anything that would be considered perfect, it would probably be this.

 

“So, onto more important things,” Peeta says. “You think I’m hot?”

 

She blushes, but doesn’t protest.

 

“It’s okay,” he says. “The feeling is mutual, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my love to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash for betaing and prereading, respectively. :)


	27. Chapter 27

They haven’t even officially started unpacking yet, but she can already tell that it’s going to take a lot more effort than packing did. They’ve gone through three boxes by now, practically unpacking as they go, in search of a tea kettle that Peeta claims is vital to making a good breakfast.

 

She doesn’t get it. “You’ve made me plenty of great breakfasts without tea.”

 

“Sweet talker,” Peeta says. “I just want to make us a good, balanced meal. Get our energy up for the rest of the day.”

 

“And hot chocolate won’t do that?” she asks, not even bothering to be hopeful. He laughs.

 

“Now I see your motives,” he jokes, grinning. “I’ll make you hot chocolate. But I really want to find the teapot. I’m starting to get worried.”

 

“Getting worried, or you have a craving?” she asks, and it’s an honest question. With the way that he packed, she would think that this wouldn’t be an issue. She bites her lips together, just about to tease him, and Peeta must be able to tell what that expression means by now, because he shakes his head.

 

“Don’t you say it,” Peeta warns, even though the corners of his eyes are crinkling as if he’s working hard not to smile. She’s starting to think that he wouldn’t be able to look stern while he played with her if he _tried_. She’s far from minding, of course. It’s enough that he plays with her, even if he’s unconvincing. She might even like it better that way, being teased and knowing that she could never take him seriously when he does. Not being scared that he’s serious.

 

“What?” she asks, making her eyes as wide as she possibly can and blinking over at him, hoping to look as innocent as she possibly can.

 

“You _know_ what,” he says, and then it’s like he can’t help it any longer. He grins at her, and she feels a similar smile stretching across her face. He’s caught her, then. Oh, well.

 

“I was just going to tell you how well this worked,” she says, and twists the end of her braid around her fingers to really sell it. “I found the tea.”

 

“But not the kettle,” he guesses, and she nods, a little laugh bubbling out. “We’ll find it. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

 

“Too bad you don’t have a really specific system,” she says, and hesitates when she finds the kettle, because this is _fun_ , and she’s not quite ready to be finished with him yet. “I would have eaten the leftover pizza.”

 

“You’re trouble,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

 

She shakes her head. Maybe, if he hadn’t said it like a term of endearment, she would have been embarrassed. Would have handed the teapot over. Only, it sounds like trouble is _exactly_ what Peeta wants her to be. So she changes the subject.

 

“Why do you have so many cookbooks?” she asks instead, looking over at the growing stack beside her.

 

He shrugs. “Dad used to buy them for me. From used bookstores and stuff. And then Finnick and Annie saw my collection and thought it would be hilarious to buy me a cookbook every year after that. I think they thought it was a good present the first year, but it’s gotta be a joke by now.”

 

“Where do you want them?” she asks.

 

“Oh, we’ll find room in a cabinet later,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “The important thing is that kettle.”

 

“Yeah, but . . .”

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I might think you were up to something, Katniss,” Peeta says, and she can’t help but to notice the way he repositions himself. As if getting ready to stand at a moment’s notice. He’s right, but she’s _fast_ , and it takes no time at all for her to jump to her feet and dash out of the kitchen, shiny tea kettle clutched tightly against her chest. The paper that he wrapped it in falls off along the way, and she hears Peeta’s footsteps behind her, heavy but creeping up on her. Getting louder as he gets closer.

 

She lets out a little laugh, racing forward. Jumps over a box that she hopes he’ll stop and step around. She’s already reached the staircase by the time he calls out for her. “Kat _niss_ ,” he sing-songs, sounding close but not _too_ close. She takes the steps two at a time and has time to duck into the guest room. “Where are you going?” he asks.

 

She leaves the door open, like she found it, but pull the closet door shut behind her. She’s grateful for the head start he gave her – intentional or not, when she finally hears him on the landing. “ _Kat_ niss,” he calls again, voice getting further away. He’s in their bedroom, then. She wonders where he’s looking. There aren’t very many good hiding spots in there – of course, there would be if they had set it up before they went to sleep. She could have hidden under the bed or behind the curtains. Her only option other than the slightly bigger but _obvious_ closet would be to hide in the shower. Or the bathtub. She wonders if he’s checking there.

 

“Mrs. Mellark!” his voice is louder now, and she jumps. He must be in the guest room. She can’t see his shadows through the slats of light that come in through the door, but that doesn’t mean anything. She’s _cornered_. He’s probably just waiting for the right moment.

 

He’ll find her any minute now. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. There’s nowhere to run. Even if she did slip out of the closet before he got in here. “Where have you gone, Mrs. Mellark?”

 

The words send a strange shiver running through her. She would try to convince herself that it was because she didn’t want to get caught, but there’s no point in lying to herself. That’s when his shadow leaks into the closet, and she covers her mouth, as if it will help if he doesn’t hear her breathe. She’s a hunter, not prey, but she’s not going to go down without a fight. If only the closet was deeper. Or taller. She looks around, wishing that she’d have somewhere to climb.

 

He sounds remarkably close the next time he speaks. Probably right in front of the closet. “Oh, now I’ve done it.” He knows she’s in here. He’s speaking much too loudly to be talking to himself. “I’ve lost my wife. How am I supposed to explain this?”

 

She waits in the silence that follows his question, rigid with anticipation. It seems like it takes hours for Peeta to – _finally_ – open the door and grin down at her. She hadn’t even thought to worry about whether or not he’d be frustrated by how childish she acted. He looks nothing but amused. And maybe a little bit proud. He stares at her for a couple of seconds, and she grips the kettle.

 

“There you are,” Peeta says, chin held high.

 

“Here I am,” she agrees, her voice weak. _Breathless_. Shouldn’t her heart start slowing back down by now? Can he tell how scattered she feels? One look at how pleased he looks, she thinks that he probably can. “It took you long enough,” she says, and he laughs.

 

“Oh, did it?” he asks. “It’s not like you warned me before you took off. I’d say I did pretty well, for a man caught off guard.”

 

“Rule number one,” she says.

 

“Fair enough,” he says, and reaches a hand down as if to help her up. She’s more than a little confused when he shakes his head before she can grab it. “No way, flight risk. I’ll be taking that kettle, please.”

 

“Flight risk?” she asks, reluctantly handing it over. He grins and helps her up with the other hand. “I preferred it when you called me Mrs. Mellark,” she admits.

 

“You like that, huh?” Peeta asks, handing the kettle back over as soon as she’s on her feet. It’s a naïve move, she thinks, him trusting her not to run. She’s just plotting her escape plan when he scoops her up, one arm under her legs and one supporting her back. Just like they talked about last night. She’s so taken off guard that an embarrassing little squeal comes out, and Peeta looks down at her, eyebrows raised.

 

“What are you _doing_?” she asks, trying to appear indignant even though that’s not even really an option anymore. Her legs aren’t even kicking. It’s like she doesn’t even _want_ to get away. She should. Probably. But she has no desire at all to wriggle out of his arms.

 

“Rule number one,” he returns, and she huffs, even though it makes her smile. “It’s like I said. You’re a flight risk, Mrs. Mellark. I need to keep an eye on you _somehow_ , and this seemed like the only way to be sure that you weren’t gonna grab the kettle and run. That okay with you?”

 

It’s almost funny. It seems like part of his joke when he asks, but then she notices the way that he’s looking at her, and there’s something very serious in his eyes. Like he would put her down the second that she indicated that this wasn’t okay. That _she_ wasn’t okay. That’s what makes her rest her head against his chest. “Well . . . if that’s the only way . . .” she says, biting her bottom lip.

 

He nods resolutely. “It is. Last resort stuff, completely.”

 

“And if you really need to keep an eye on me . . .” she continues, earning herself a shy smile.

 

“Of course. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

 

 _Oh._ That’s even better than being called Mrs. Mellark. There’s a new feeling deep in her belly, as if he’s set a fire there. But the flames aren’t at all unpleasant as they lap at her, just very, very warm. She can’t find her words. She wants to make some sort of joke or comment or even just acknowledge what he said, but she can’t. She’s boneless in his arms. Content just to let him carry her down the stairs.

 

She can’t help herself. She reaches up lazily and brushes his curls back, away from his eyes. Follows his hair back to the nape of his neck and plays with the curls there. “I ended up with the kettle, you know.”

 

This makes him laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Mellark. I have a feeling that you’re really misreading the situation here. You lost. I’m sorry.”

 

It doesn’t feel too much like a loss, him carrying her down the stairs like this. “You like it, too,” she gloats more than guesses.

 

“What do I like?” Peeta asks.

 

“The way Mrs. Mellark sounds,” she says. “You never called me that before. I like it.”

 

He grins. “I do. And you know what sounds even better?”

 

She shakes her head, and he waits, rounding the corner and setting her down on the counter. He steps back very carefully once he’s grabbed the kettle, and she takes it as a hint not to move. Or, at least, not to move _yet_. “ _Katniss Mellark_ ,” he says.  “I don’t know. It’s just . . . the right amount of syllables, or something,” he says, offering her a shy little smile. “It’s perfect.”

 

She isn’t sure what the sound that escapes is. Something between a sigh and a laugh. He’s right. It does sound nice.

 

“Katniss Mellark,” she repeats, but it doesn’t sound quite as good when she says it. She’s lacking whatever it was that sent that feeling through her. The adoration, probably. He said her name like it was something special. Something more than a name. Something beautiful and special and poetic.

 

“It’s nice, right?” he asks, maybe a little bit shy as he gets to work on breakfast.

 

“It is,” she agrees, jumping down from the counter and coming to stand beside him. She wants to ask him to say it again, only, she’s not sure how to go about that.

 

  
She feels silly, but she _likes_ the extra effort that goes into unpacking. Likes pushing herself hard enough for her muscles to protest when she goes to lift a particularly heavy box. She hardly does enough at the bakery to count it as _work_. She likes being useful.

And – even though she would feel silly telling him about it – she likes the way that Peeta looks at her when she comes in with a box. He looks impressed every time she carries one that ends up being stronger than he had thought it would be.

 

“Have I put Finnick out of a job?” she jokes, and Peeta grins.

 

“Talk to me when you get a truck, and he’s out of here.”

 

She laughs. “And I was just starting to like him, too. Oh, well.”

 

“Just don’t tell Rye about how strong you are,” he says. “He’ll make you do all his heavy lifting at the bakery.”

 

“Does that mean you won’t? You’re sweet.”

 

He shrugs. “Well, you know. They say chivalry is dead, but . . .”

 

She laughs, settling down on the floor to help him unwrap all of the plates that he covered in bubble wrap. Other than that, they work in silence. That’s another thing that she likes. It’s nice that every quiet moment doesn’t have to be filled up.

 

It’s _comfortable_. Every so often, one of them will get up to find another box. Right now, they’re trying to get all of their pots and pans into one of the cupboards. She knows that if getting finished was the most important thing, that they could split up. That she could leave him to work in the kitchen and go unpack their clothing. But she doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want to split up. This is nice, working with him. Hands brushing every so often. Trading off on who goes to get the next box. She likes it, even when he looks at her funny when she carries a new box in. He even stands up.

 

Like he’s concerned, almost. He rushed over and helped when she found the heavy box and almost dropped it on her feet, but this one doesn’t weigh very much at all. So why is he looking at her like that? She sets it down and expects him to stop, only, he doesn’t. His eyes just flit up and down, from the box to her.

 

“What?” she asks, feeling slightly more self conscious than she has around him in a while. Has she done something wrong?

 

“Hmm?” he asks.

 

“You’re staring,” she says, feeling ridiculous for pointing it out. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s looking at something behind her. “Why?”

 

“No reason,” he says.

 

“Well, I wasn’t sure where to put this one,” she says. “I couldn’t tell. I mean, it wasn’t marked, so I just figured . . . most of the boxes end up in here.”

 

“Oh. Does that make it hard, the boxes not being marked?” he asks, and she can tell that he’s being much, much too innocent. He’s teasing her. The realization makes her grin. She deserves it, really. She certainly teased him enough while they packed. And this morning. And this afternoon.

 

“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes.  “What’s in the box and where does it go?”

 

He won’t quite look at her. She thinks for a second that maybe she shouldn’t have called attention to his staring. That almost seems preferable. “It can probably go in the attic. It’s just, you know, stuff from when I was younger. Toys and stuff.”

 

“You kept it?” she asks. How come this didn’t come out while they were packing? With all of the things that he showed her, a box like this would have been especially fun to go through.

 

He’s turning pinker by the second. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunching forward a little bit. “Well I mean, not all of it. Obviously,” he says. “It’s just some things that I figured I’d want - I might want . . . if . . . _if._ You know.”

 

She does know. For a long moment, they’re both frozen. Peeta staring out into the distance, at nothing at all, probably, and her watching him. She swallows hard. She knows the answer to her next question, but it seems to be worth asking, anyway. “You want kids?”

 

That gets his attention. He glances over at her and then around the room, as if taking in the mess of boxes that surrounds them. Then he tries and fails to keep himself from smiling. “Well, I mean, we’re kinda busy at the moment, Katniss.”

 

She returns his smile before she even realizes what she’s doing. There’s that warm fire in her belly again, only more concentrated, this time. Burning more brightly. Coursing through her. _We_. _We’re kinda busy_. He doesn’t just want children in the abstract, then. He must have, once. Must have liked the _idea_ , if he kept his stuff for them.

 

But he knows her, now. Knows that his children would be _her_ children, too. That she would be the one who would give them to him. Not right away, but someday. Eventually.

 

And he still wants them. He wants her to give them to him. Wants _her_ ,   
  
  
Unbidden, she thinks of how it might be nice to have someone to pass her plant book down to. It’s really the only family keepsake that she has, and, as her mother’s eldest daughter, it’s rightfully hers. But she had always imagined that it would go to Prim’s family, when she had children. When Katniss didn’t plan on getting married, let alone having children. But now that she’s thinking about it, there’s something she likes about the idea of passing the plant book down to her child. Of keeping that tradition going.

 

“What did you keep?” she asks, her voice too quiet, too thoughtful.

 

Peeta hesitates. His blush has got to be getting painful by now, but even with it, he looks concerned. And maybe a little bit confused. Like he wasn’t expecting this sort of reaction from her. She doesn’t blame him. Hadn’t the mere thought of this sent her running last time? Granted, Peeta doesn’t know that.

 

“Just, um . . . important stuff, I guess.” She gets the feeling that it wasn’t meant to be a question. But that’s how it comes out. This is the most flustered she’s seen him. “Like my baby blanket. Things that were mine to begin with. Or, at least, things that my brothers didn’t get when they moved out. Being the youngest, and all, most of what I had was handed down. So what I did have . . . the special stuff, at least . . . I wanted to keep. Pass down.”

 

She nods. “That makes sense. All my things were passed down to Prim,” she admits carefully. “Then it was sold once she was through with it. Except my father’s jacket. I got that. And the plant book.” And aren’t those her most treasured possessions? It makes sense, really, that Peeta would want to keep the important things.

 

He nods thoughtfully, looking down at his socks. “I know it’s silly. I just, I don’t know. I guess I thought . . .”  

 

“It’s not silly,” she says, holding eye contact for as long as he’ll let her. He glances away, and she sneaks over so she can stand a little bit closer to him but his eyes snap back over to look at her when rests her hand on his arm. He feels tense, but then relaxes for a second.   
  
“It’s _nice_ ,” she says.   
  
He laughs, and it sounds almost disbelieving. “Yeah?” he asks.   
  
“Yeah,” she agrees with a little nod. “For . . . someday.”   
  
“For someday,” he agrees, and it’s funny, the way he grins. It’s as if she’s given him the greatest present he’s ever received, just by promising a someday with children. “I’ll show you what’s in there, sometime, if you wanna leave it out,” he offers.   
  
She nods. “Okay.”

 

It’s quiet for a long moment. She rests her head against his chest, and she’s more surprised than she should be to hear the way his heart is pounding. Is he nervous? Excited? She’s not sure.   
  
He clears his throat. “Um, I really want to make sure you don’t think that I was just _assuming_ that . . . you know. And the last thing I ever want to make you do is feel uncomfortable.”

 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” she says. Maybe she should be, but she isn’t, somehow. “And you didn’t assume anything. I asked, remember?”

 

He laughs. “You’re silly.”

 

“I thought I was a flight risk.”

 

“You can be both,” he says, clearly indulging her.

 

 _He would make a good father_. Another mostly unprompted thought, this one accompanied with the thought of how happy he was, finding her in the closet. How ready he was to . . . to _play_ with her. She isn’t sure she’ll stop smiling any time soon, but she doesn’t mind.

  


It’s silly, but another thing that she likes about unpacking is the way Peeta pauses when he opens a new box. She likes that she isn’t the only one to double check before deciding where something goes. That Peeta meant it when he said that this would be her house as much as it would be his. She doesn’t usually mind too much, where he wants to put things. But it’s the asking that counts. That makes her feel like she’s a part of this process.

 

Even if he’s totally wrong about where the plates should go. She’s said _yeah, sure_ , for nearly every suggestion he’s had, but when he wants to put the plates in the corner cabinet, she has to shake her head. The way he frowns almost makes her regret saying anything.

 

“Okay,” he says. “Why not?”

 

She hesitates.

 

“I just like it since it’s not too far from the oven, and there’s counter space underneath it.”

 

“It doesn’t work,” she says.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks. “I think they’d fit just fine if –”

 

He stops himself when she stands up, and he’s clearly not sure what’s happening when she crosses to the corner. Not until she stretches up on her tiptoes and still can barely lean over the curved counter to open the cabinet.

 

“Oh,” he says. He’s biting his lips together, as if trying not to laugh, when she looks over her shoulder at him, and she feels her face settling into a scowl, so she stares at the wall between the countertop and the cabinet.  “No! No. I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just that this is so different from what I’m used to. And I kinda love it.”

 

“Right,” she says. “You love me being difficult.”

 

“Not difficult,” he protests, and she hears him crossing the distance between them. “You’re being honest.”

 

This convinces her to turn and look at him, back resting against the cold counter. She can feel it through her shirt. He’s not far from her. There’s about foot and a half between them, if that.   
  
“And difficult,” she says, sounding a little petulant. “I just . . . want to be able to get the plates. And I get that it’s your kitchen, and you’re the one that does the cooking . . .”

 

“Hey, none of that,” he chides, coming to stand impossibly closer when he rests his palms flat on the countertop. She’s not sure what to make of the thrill that runs through her at hisproximity. “We’ll put the plates where you can reach them. Not a big deal.”   
  
“You were laughing at me,” she protests weakly. “You think I’m being ridiculous.”   
  


“Of course I don’t think you’re being ridiculous,” he says, and it sounds a little bit like he might be getting there. “Bear with me, okay?” he asks, looking incredibly earnest.   
  
She nods. “I’ve never moved stuff into a house before,” she admits. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”

 

“You’re not being difficult,” Peeta says gently, as if the fact that she thinks she is makes him sad.  She nods.   
  
“I’ve never had anyone to share my kitchen with before you,” he reminds her. “We’ll figure it out. Okay?”   
  
It’s silly – petty, really – but she’s pleased that he reminded her of this, even if wasn’t the point of what he was saying. She likes the thought of being the only one who gets to have this experience with him. Of moving in with him. Decorating a house. Being carried around like his new bride. Having him so close.   
  
_Mine_ , she thinks, a little smile turning the corners of her lips up. _This is_ mine.

 

“Okay,” she says. “If it helps, you can put the glasses anywhere you want. I won’t complain. I mean, I’ll probably ask you to get the glasses down for me when I’m too tired to climb for them, but I won’t complain. Promise.”

  
He laughs, closing the rest of the distance between them and kissing the top of her head. “We’ll just put some baking stuff up there,” he says, and then grins. “I can give you a boost if we end up needing it, sound good?”   
  
He could just get them himself, no lifting required. Of course, she doesn’t tell him that. She’s barely even nodded by the time he hoists her up to sit on the counter. Like he’s been waiting. “Okay,” she says. “Works for me. Though, I’m starting to think that you like having me up on ths counter.”   
  
“Of course I do,” Peeta says. “Makes it easy to keep an eye on you.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eternal gratitude to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash :)


	28. Chapter 28

She’s starting to think that they’ll never get anything done if Peeta has anything to do with it. He’s a hard worker, but he’s also easily distracted. Moving from one box to another, working on so many things that it doesn’t end up amounting to much. Or, better, he’ll stop to tell her a story, even going so far as to sprawl out on the floor while he does. Best – in a _biggest distraction_ sort of way – is when he stands up, completely out of the blue, and takes her hand so he can lead her downstairs.

 

“Let me guess,” she said the first time. “We have to keep our energy up.”

 

He smiles at her. “Well, now that you mention it, that’s a great excuse. I was gonna say that we need to break in the kitchen, though.”   
  


She sort of laughs but lets him put her to work anyway. Cracking eggs. Measuring out heaping cups of brown sugar. Never _ever_ unpacking without him, even after the second day off they had after moving in. It’s an unspoken rule, but a rule nonetheless. They don’t unpack alone. They go back to work while they wait for whatever it is that she decides he should make to rise, or to bake, and to cool. It isn’t _too_ much time lost, and besides, she’s never going to complain about Peeta baking for her.

 

Only, she can’t figure out why he wants to even after a full day at work, so she stretches her leg out and nudges his thigh with her toes one night when he crosses over to wash his hands.

 

“Yes?” he asks, looking amused.

 

“Do you really want to bake?” she asks.

 

He nods. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Well, you _did_ spend all day in front of the oven,” she says.

 

“That’s not the same thing,” he says.

 

“No?”

 

“Nope. Completely different. It’s much better to bake for you than it is to bake for strangers.”

 

She can’t help but to agree. She prefers it when they get to bake alone, too. Likes it when they can sneak kisses and touches and not get called out by Rye. There’s been a lot of touching, lately. Lots of kissing and joking and little fleeting touches that manage to incite that new, strange, pleasant feeling that he keeps on managing to make rise up in her.

 

He picks up a cookbook that hasn’t quite found a home yet and hands it over. “Why don’t you see if you can find something that sound goods? Your wish is my command.”

 

She smiles. He seems to be making everything he knows. She thinks of Annie’s confession. Thinks that maybe he’s _trying to impress her_ again. There are worse ways, of course, than for him to set her up on the counter and bake something. He lets her help, of course, when she asks. Sometimes, like tonight, he’ll hand her one of his heavy cookbooks and give her a challenge. They’ve been in the new house for almost a week, and her assignments are getting harder. _“Why don’t you see if you can find something we have the stuff for?”_ or _“I bet you can’t find something I’ve never made.”_

 

That night was fun. He had never made muffins – or any kind of baked goods, really – in the microwave, and he had protested up until the moment she dared him. And maybe it was them being childish, but he couldn’t back down from that. Even as his nose wrinkled in disgust and he warned her over and over again that _“It’s just not baking if it’s in the_ microwave _, Katniss!”_

 

And they weren’t very good. They were rubbery and lumpy and Peeta was surprised at Katniss’ insistence to force them down. Because food is food, and he may have given her a taste for well made things, but that doesn’t mean that food should go to waste.

 

She starts to flip through the book, but he’s made so many things the last few nights that she doesn’t have a craving for anything in particular. But she doesn’t want to tell him that. “What sounds good to you?” she asks instead.

 

“Me?” he asks, and considers it for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

 

“I know cinnamon rolls are for breakfast . . .” she hints, and he smiles.

 

“Oh, I’m sure we could come up with something similar if we didn’t want to break the rules. Bread, maybe?”

 

She scrunches her face up before she’s sure what she’s doing. “ _Bread?”_

 

“You don’t think it would work?” she asks. “We could probably figure something out. The cinnamon would work in something dark. Hmm . . .”

 

That’s all it takes to get him going. “C’mere,” he says, plopping down on the floor and setting a few cookbooks off to the side. “Help me do my research.”

 

She nods, hopping down from the counter and coming to sit on the floor with him. He wants to show her whatever it is that he’s looking at on his phone, so she ends up closer than is strictly necessary, back pressed against his chest and his legs stretched out on either side of her. He obviously doesn’t mind. They both start to flip through the books. She’s not sure what she’s looking for, but Peeta has already dog-eared a few pages at some point in the past. There are little notes to himself scrawled in the margins, about adjusting the yield and possible substitutes.

 

“Fruit or nuts?” he asks.

 

“Nuts,” she says, and then hesitates when realizes that she’s not actually sure what he’s asking. “Wait. Fruit. Can we have both?”

 

He laughs. “I like the way you think. We’ll have to make a trip to the store after work tomorrow,” Peeta says. “Get some walnuts and whatever else we decide on. But I think it could be worth it.”   
  
She shrugs, still not convinced.   
  
“It’s going to be great,” he says. “Have a little faith.”   
  
  
He’s right. The bread is incredible. They eat the whole first loaf slice by slice that next night, nearly burning their fingers on the bread.   
  
“We make a good team,” Peeta says, as if she deserves any of the credit.

 

****  
  


It’s her idea, inviting his family over for dinner. He tries to tell her that they don’t _have_ to, but then, after she insists that she _wants_ to have dinner with his family – and that his mother has been civil the last few times that their paths have crossed – he starts to get excited.

 

It’s endearing, really. He shifts gears instantly, and goes from unpacking to moving the extra boxes with all of their nonessential things upstairs and into closets. Tries to figure out what they should make. Looks at her with impossibly wide eyes when she talks about the way that they used to make their stew in District Twelve, how they would leave it all to sit for as long as they could stand to, what they would put in it. She should have known what he was doing when he started asking her questions about it. Wanting to know what sort of pan to make it in. How high the temperature on the stove would have to be.

 

She only really realizes what he was doing when they go shopping for groceries and he seems to be getting everything on the list she gave him.

 

“You probably won’t find squirrel,” she warns, and he laughs.

 

“No? Is it too short notice to send you out with your bow?” he asks.

 

She pretends to think about it for a moment. “Probably. I could be out of practice by now, you know. Not used to shooting at animals anymore.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’d be fine,” Peeta says, grinning. “But we can find a substitute.”

  


She doesn’t really do much, as far as preparing goes. She’s spent most her afternoon up on the counter. They’ve managed to clear the boxes out of the dining room and living room, even if they’re still stacked high in the guest room and their bedroom.   
  
She sets the table, even stretches a tablecloth out that they managed to find while they unpacked. Crisp and ridiculously white. She’s sure that it’s going to be stained at some point during the meal. But Peeta isn’t worried about it, so she smiles proudly. It looks nice. Looks completely unlike anything that she and her sister would have in District Twelve even on New Year’s.   
  


He offers her the first spoonful of stew. “You like it?” he asks, and she nods her approval. “You don’t think Prim is going to be mad that you gave away an Everdeen family secret recipe?”

 

She laughs. “No. She won’t mind. I can tell you exactly what she’s going to say.”

 

“Yeah?” he asks, bringing his own spoon to his lips.

 

“She’s going to say that she’s happy that I’m happy. Or that she’s glad that you listened to me when I told you about it,” Katniss says, and he looks pleased. “That’s most of what she says in her letters, anyway.”

 

He ends up a little closer to her than is strictly necessary when he puts their spoons in the sink, but she doesn’t mind.

 

“She claims she can tell. Based on the way I write about – about . . . just how I write. When I tell her how things are here.”

 

It’s not a lie. Though, ever since that first letter, _Peeta_ has been the reason Prim has thought that Katniss was happy. She wonders if he knows that. If he can tell. Probably. He’s staring up at her, looking for all the world as if he’s seeing her for the first time.

 

She likes this new angle. Likes being slightly taller, even with him standing just in front of her, hands on the countertop again, they way that they were before he put her up on the counter that second time. Between the way he’s looking up and the way that she’s looking down, there isn’t much room between them. “She always used to say that I was an open book,” she continues. “Guess she was right.”

 

“You’re happy here,” Peeta says. It isn’t a question, but he looks hopeful, and she nods. He smiles, but she can’t help but to think that she can do one better.

 

“I’m happy here,” she echoes. “With you – _because_ of you.”

 

She’s rewarded for her bravery with a smile from Peeta that’s almost unlike any of the others she’s seen before. So bright and pure and joyful. She can’t help herself. She closes the distance between them before she can be embarrassed that she brought any of this up.

 

It works. Nothing matters, really, other than the way his lips feel on hers. His hands on her waist. Hers grasping at his dress shirt, probably wrinkling the fabric over his shoulders. But she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t stop to think about it, and he clearly doesn’t, either. It’s like he can’t get close enough. There’s too much the room. The counter is too high. She’s too far away. He’s too close for her to just hop down.

 

“I’m – I’m happy, too,” Peeta manages between kisses that are starting to border on frantic. “ _So_ happy – you’re here . . . and you’re _happy_ . . .” he tries to continue. “And I – you are so . . .”

 

She doesn’t think he knows what he’s trying to say, either, but she gets the idea. Just like he gets the idea when she shifts, ready to move down off of the counter, and his hands slide to the small of her back, helping to move her forward and then slipping slightly lower, applying just enough pressure for her to be able to get down. A thrill runs through her at the touch, fleeting and yet electric.

 

He stumbles a little bit once her feet are finally flat on the floor. She’s pulling him by the shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hands find her hair at some point, just a little bit before her back presses against the wall, and cushions her head again, just like he did when they were wrestling. He’s practically undoing her braid, but it feels good, and she doesn’t mind. Her hands move from his shoulders to his chest. Down, and back, so that she can map out his back with her fingertips. She can feel the warmth of his skin through the shirt, but she finds herself wishing it wasn’t separating them. Especially as her hands start inching forward and she feels the muscles in his stomach contract when she reaches what must be a ticklish spot on his sides.

 

She isn’t sure how long they stay like that. But they aren’t prepared at all when the doorbell rings. It startles them both – especially Katniss – but then Peeta sort of laughs. He looks disheveled  but _happy_. “Maybe,” he whispers. “Maybe if we’re very, very quiet, they won’t realize that we’re home.”

 

“I don’t think that works when you invite guests over,” she says, but she’s smiling, too. The doorbell rings again, coupled this time with an urgent knock, and she laughs. “See?”

 

“Damn,” he says, stepping backwards.

 

“We should probably let them in,” she says, and he hesitates. “What?” she asks.

 

“Well . . . _I_ probably should. But . . . um.” He reaches out, as if to touch her hair, but then he thinks better of it. “I’m really sorry. But I messed up your hair.”

 

“How bad is it?” she asks.

 

He shrugs, looking genuinely contrite, and she reaches up, feeling the mess that was once a several strand braid that her mother had taught her. “I really am sorry,” he says again. “I can stall, if you want to go and try to fix it.”

 

“You’re such a gentleman,” she says, stretching up on her tiptoes and giving him another kiss before she heads up the stairs.

 

She’s a mess. It’s almost funny. She had looked so nice to begin with, hair styled carefully and blouse sitting perfectly straight. Now nothing is in place. Her hair is not just falling out of its braid but also frizzy and sticking up in places. Her cheeks are flushed -- and warm to the touch when she reaches a hand up to press against it. She’s not sure what to do, exactly. The cool water that she splashes on her cheeks doesn’t do much. It doesn’t even make her stop grinning like an idiot.   
  
Other than her newly swollen lips, the most noticeable difference, she thinks, as she gets to work untangling her hair. She wishes that she had thought to make sure that Peeta knew that it wouldn’t be hard to fix. She considers leaving it down for half of a second, but then puts it up into a simple braid. She’ll never recreate the intricate one, but they still have a few more things to do in the kitchen, so it’s probably best to keep it back. She stops. Stares at herself in the mirror. Tries to make a serious face. But she _can’t_ , and she ends up laughing. Which really isn’t too big of a difference from her smile before.

 

Is this what Peeta is dealing with? Is he even trying to hide it from his family? Should she? She doesn’t bother, just heads down the stairs.

 

“There she is!” Scarlett says. “We’ve been wondering when you were going to come join the party.”

 

“Peeta told us he wouldn’t give us the grand tour until you joined us,” Rye says, and Scarlett shoots him a look. Peeta sort of laughs.

 

“Yeah. Well, you know . . .” she does know. He was stalling for her. Just like he promised he would. “It’s your house, too.”

 

She nods, coming to stand beside him. He wraps his arm around her, and she rests her head on his shoulder. It's strange, the way his mother stares at them. As if she's scrutinizing the way that they're standing. Katniss looks away.

 

“I’m here, now,” she says. “We can get started whenever you’re all ready.”

 

None of them seem particularly impressed by the kitchen. That’s good. Katniss is blushing, thinking of what just happened in there a few minutes earlier, and doesn’t mind ducking out and into the other rooms that haven't quite been christened.

 

Astrid is the first one to say anything. “Is that it?”

 

“What? The house?” Peeta asks. Rye snickers, but Katniss know that he's laughing at Astrid. “There’s a guest room,” he says. “But it’s practically just storage at this point.”

 

“I just thought, when Dylan said you two were moving into a _house_ . . .” she continues, and Scarlett cuts her off.

 

“I think it’s lovely,” she says. “And it’s the perfect size for you two.”

 

“Thank you,” Peeta says with a little smile. “We think it's perfect, too.”

 

“Especially the kitchen,” Katniss says.

 

It’s like he tries not to laugh, but he can’t hold it back, exactly, and the result is something between a cough and a snort. Is he choking? She rests her hand on his back. “Are you okay? Do you want a drink?”

 

He shakes his head. “I'm fine. Thanks.”

 

She nods. Mrs. Mellark is staring again, but Katniss feels a little bit proud of herself. She likes this. Likes having a joke between the two of them. Likes making him laugh.

 

Likes thinking about kissing him again. Likes the tiny little promise in his eyes when he looks at her. There will be more.

 

“Well, I think we're just about ready to eat,” Katniss says, and Peeta nods. “So if you all want to grab a seat, we'll start bringing food out.”

 

“Which seats?” Mrs. Mellark asks, looking very pointedly at the two that don’t match. The two that Peeta rented specifically for the evening.

 

“You can sit wherever you’d like,” Peeta says, and she's impressed that his smile looks gracious and not annoyed. Especially when Astrid and Mrs. Mellark exchange a little look. “I would just, personally, like to have a seat beside my wife.”

 

“So that's how it is,” Rye says, and Katniss laughs.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “Maybe you can sit on his other side.”

 

They end up across from their usual seats. Across from his father. His mother is seated at the head of the table. Katniss wonders if she decided to sit there or if it was the only seat left.   
  
Was it always like that between them? Or did she _like_ sitting beside her husband once? Peeta pulls her chair out, though, and thankfully dismisses the thought. He won’t get tired of her. Right?

  


“This salad is excellent,” Mr. Mellark says. Katniss smiles.

 

“Thank you. We figured it was a good time to try something new.”

 

“We? Peeta made the dressing himself,” Katniss says. “He's great at this stuff.”

 

“She's too modest. We used her recipe for the stew. So it should be authentic. Hopefully.”

 

Mr. Mellark smiles, but his reply is cut off by his wife.

 

“Do you remember Dylan and Astrid's housewarming party? They had it catered. All of her friends were there. It was lovely.”

 

“I wasn't there,” Peeta says.

 

Astrid huffs. “Dylan _offered_ to reschedule.”   
  
“I wasn’t there either,” Katniss says, resting her hand on Peeta’s knee when she realizes that he must be getting frustrated. It’s obvious, she knows, but it makes Peeta laugh, and that’s good enough for her.   
  
Mrs. Mellark and Astrid start to talk about one of the women that must have gone to the housewarming party. Peeta’s hand comes down briefly to rest on top of hers. She offers him a smile.   
  
“Did you lose your contacts again, Peeta?” Mrs. Mellark asks, for no clear reason other than to change the subject again. She’s surprised that his mother looks at her again when she continues. “They used to always fall out when he was a boy. Now, he would never admit to it, but I think that we let them have them too young and he messed with them.”   
  
“I had astigmatism,” Peeta corrects. She’s not sure if he’s talking to her or to his mother, but either way, he seems to think that it’s an important distinction. “They didn't fit. Remember?”   
  


His mother raises her eyebrows, as if she doesn’t believe him. Katniss wishes that she wouldn’t get laughed at for asking him what _astigmatism_ is, because she’s sure that he would tell her. “We always tried to convince him to get the surgery. But . . . well,” she shrugs, as if the rest goes without saying. What? He spent his money on Katniss, instead?   
  
“I like the -” Katniss says, and she knows that Mrs. Mellark hears her, but she talks over her anyway, even though she’s looking straight at her.   
  
“I always thought he looked so much more mature when he wore his contact lenses. But then, he never did like to look his age. I’m just glad you finally convinced him to get his hair cut.”   
  
She didn’t. It had actually come close to being a fight, him going out and getting his hair cut while she sat and watched, helpless. He hadn’t warned her. Had just said he was sorry he but he couldn’t put it off any longer.

 

She wasn’t upset – she wasn’t _too_ upset – about the hair cutting in general as she was about the fact that she could have done it for him. Easily. Her mother always cut her father’s hair. But he didn’t ask her to, so she couldn’t even offer. And Peeta told her, when she confronted him afterwards, that she _doesn’t have to_ , but she was surprised to realize that she _wanted_ to. Wanted to care for him the way that her mother used to care for her father, keeping his hair short.  
  
“He was horrible about it as a kid. Never wanted to cut it,” Mrs. Mellark continues. “I always thought he would thank me for it later -- kids are mean. They could have easily pulled his hair during wrestling. But apparently I’m still going to have to wait for that. He’s just not old enough to realize that I always wanted what was best for him.”   
  
Peeta’s leg tenses, like he’s clenching his muscles.   
  
“I’ll have you know, Katniss, _I_ never pulled his hair,” Rye says. “I’m not sure what he’s telling you.”   
  
“I’ve been honest,” Peeta defends, smiling. He’s clearly grateful for the change of subject.   
  
“He told you how badly I beat him at the wrestling tournament, then?” Rye asks, half gloating and half wondering.   
  
“And what a gracious winner he is, I imagine?” Dylan teases. “All these years later. I swear, he’ll never get over it.”   
  
Katniss laughs. “Peeta seems to have moved on, I think.”   
  
“I’d say, all things considered, things ended up okay for me,” Peeta says, and then smiles. “You ready to go get the stew?”   
  
“Sure,” Katniss says, standing up. She stops to collect everyone’s plates on the way past. Rye and Scarlett already have theirs stacked. She wonders if they’re Peeta’s favorites, too.   
  
  
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Mellark says when she takes her first tiny spoonful of the stew. The rest of the table freezes in anticipation, wondering what she’s going to say. “You certainly can tell it’s from District Twelve, can’t you?”   
  
Peeta swallows hard. It’s the first time he’s looked genuinely thrown all night long.   
  
“The rolls!” Katniss says. “We should get the rolls.”   
  
He opens his mouth, as if to protest, but she takes him by the hand and drags him into the kitchen.   
  
  
He seems grateful for the solitude, at least. She can’t help but to notice the way he deflates, shoulders slumping forward.  
  
“Why can’t I ever just make her happy?” Peeta asks, and he sounds genuinely sad. Then he shakes his head. “It’s stupid. It’s just . . . no matter what I do . . .”   
  
She has to reach up on her tiptoes to reach his cheek, even with his bad posture, but she manages to reach him. And she keeps going. Silly little kisses landing anywhere she can reach. His chin, his cheekbones. A couple of them end up on his lips, but that’s not really the point.   
  
The point is to get him to laugh. And he does. It’s surprisingly rewarding, drawing that out of him. Getting him back. “I know. It’s hard. But for what it’s worth -- or if it’s even worth anything, you make me happy.”   
  
It must. It must mean _everything,_ based on the way he kisses her.   
  
“We might want to get back out there,” she says, regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth. It’s true. They’ll be missed soon. But that doesn’t mean she wants to leave this. The comfort of their kitchen. Of him standing so close to her.   
  
“Especially since the rolls are already on the table,” Peeta says, grinning. It’s a huge improvement over when they came in.   
  
“You could have told me,” she whispers.   
  
“I tried. It’s okay. We’ll just tell them that we forgot to turn the oven off.”   
  
“Clearly a two person job,” she teases, and he nods.   
  
“Clearly.”  
  
His mother’s napkin has been folded and dropped into her mostly full bowl of stew, but Peeta doesn’t let that stop him from smiling. Maybe he doesn’t notice. She certainly doesn’t want to be the one to point it out.   
  
Rye has questions about the recipe that Katniss and Peeta are more than happy to answer. Astrid and Mrs. Mellark engage in a quiet conversation, maybe purposefully leaving the others out, but they’re not exactly missed. They just end up missing out on a couple of jokes. It seems like everything that his mother _does_ have to say is negative in one way or another, be it about someone Katniss doesn’t know or one of her sons. Peeta seems to get the worst of it. Maybe because she’s in _his_ house.   
  
“We _never_ thought Peeta would settle down,” she ends up saying. “At least not _after_. There was a while, there, where he just wouldn’t get out and give it a shot. Guess he never did.”   
  
Peeta gives an uncomfortable little laugh. “I think this counts, Mom.”   
  
She tilts her head to the side. “ _Does_ it?”  
  


Katniss swallows hard. Peeta rests his hand on _her_ leg, this time, giving her a tiny little squeeze. Either a nervous spasm or him apologizing for the fact that it’s been brought up. She does feel defensive. Does that show? Is it clear that she wants to kick all of them out for his mother’s offenses and spend the rest of her evening alone with him? But then another thought hits her. The girls in the Capitol were all idiots if they couldn’t see Peeta for who he is, but that didn’t exactly end up hurting either of them.  
  
She feels almost proud. Definitely protective. “I’m glad,” Katniss says. “Glad that he settled down with me. He’s a wonderful husband.”   
  
Wonderful. The old Katniss probably never used the word _wonderful_ to describe anything. But it seems right. Especially when Peeta smiles.   
  
“We all knew he would be,” Dylan says. “If only based on the way he bragged about you. Just from the picture. Boy was a goner before he even officially met you.”   
  
She wonders what it might be like if Prim just up and decided who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with before Katniss even had the chance to meet him. It would certainly be hard. And yet his brothers have been much more welcoming than his mother.   
  
_Of course_ , she thinks, _the mothers usually do the raising_. She does seem to think that she _knows_ what’s best for him. Does she think that Katniss isn’t that? No. She stops that thought in its tracks. Peeta certainly hadn’t acted like this was a new thing.  
  
She hates this for him, even if he has brightened considerably since their kitchen rendezvous. Hates that he’s had to deal with this without her there to distract him. Hates that he probably grew up not being good enough for his mother. How could someone as kind and gentle and brave as Peeta come from someone as harsh as his mother? Or someone as quiet as his father? She resents him, too. It’s a startling realization, considering the fact that she had once thought that she would like him just for being from home.   
  
But then, this _is_ her home now. This perfect little house with a husband who is thousands of times better than she could have ever hoped for. Her loyalty is with him, and not with District Twelve. When did that happen?   
  
  
It takes a while for them to clean up after his family leaves. They work in comfortable silence, rinsing plates and loading them into the dishwasher.   
  
“You’re a champion,” he informs her while they put the dishes in the sink. “But I have to admit, I’m happy I get you to myself again.”   
  
A little shiver runs through her at the words, but she’s not sure why. “Yeah?”  
  
“I’m gonna give you the world’s biggest backrub,” he promises, and she’s only disappointed until she realizes what he’s offering. “Or footrub. Or both. Whatever you want. You’re my hero, putting up with all of this.”   
  
“They’re your family,” she says. “Your brothers are really growing on me.”   
  
“I think it goes both ways,” he says. “Did you see their faces when you said you were glad I settled down? You just about killed them.”   
  
She smiles. “I was watching your parents.”   
  
“How did they look?” he asks.   
  
“Surprised. Um,  a little stunned,” she admits. _Ridiculous,_ she thinks, but doesn’t say. “I hope I didn’t ruin things.”   
  
“By saying I’m a good husband?” he asks, shaking his head. “No. You made my night, actually.”

 

She wants to tell him more. That he really is great and that she's _sorry._ Even though she's not really sure what she's sorry about. Everything, really, but mostly his mother. “Glad I could help,” she says instead, but that isn't enough at all. “And I meant it. Um, about you being wonderful. Being a good husband. You’re good at. . . All of this.”

 

“I love being your husband,” he says, very quiet. “I mean, clearly tonight could have gone a little more smoothly. But all of this domestic stuff, cooking with you, entertaining guests… I love it.”

 

“I love it, too,” she admits.

 

He gives her a quick little kiss that's almost better than the one his family interrupted.

  
Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to Gentlemama and Modernlifeofash :)


	29. Chapter 29

They don’t have too much time after work, but as always, they spend it working on the house. Tonight, they go through and clean each and every window, from the glass to the sill to the screen that keeps the bugs out. It takes them a while to get everything finished, especially since they don’t go to the other rooms while they work. But that’s okay. It’s rewarding work, pulling away dirty towels and being able to leave the windows open as they finish cleaning them, one by one.

Peeta likes the fresh air, too. And Katniss particularly likes the silence that can finally come with it, now. It’s gloriously, blessedly quiet outside, save for the birds chirping. That doesn’t even seem like it should count, it’s so pleasant. It’s nothing at all like the car alarms and horns and angry pedestrians outside of the apartment. This is much more enjoyable, being able to enjoy the breeze. It’s almost like her life in District Twelve, before she knew the joy of air conditioning, only this is much better.

Especially when they’re standing in the living room, surveying their work, and Peeta finally makes good on his promise to rub her back. He comes to stand behind her, and before she even turns to look at him, his hands are on her shoulders, working expertly at the muscles there. She sways under the touch, and one of his hands goes down to her elbow very briefly, as if to steady her. “Okay?” he asks.

She tries to answer. She does. Only, it feels so good, the way he’s kneading at her muscles that a little moan slips out without her permission. “ _Mmm_.” She bites her lip. Waits for him to pull his hands away, or laugh, or both, maybe. But he doesn’t.

 

“You’re really knotted up,” he comments. “Let me know if it hurts, okay?”

 

She nods, and squirms a little bit when he bears down a little more on a sore spot in her back. One of the knots he mentioned, maybe? She bites back another little moan. No one has ever touched her like this before. It feels so good, him working at her muscles. “Doesn’t hurt. You’re good with your hands.”

It’s quiet for a half a second. She thinks Peeta laughs behind her, but he tries to cover it, so she decides to let it go. She would excuse an insane amount of things if it meant that he was going to keep doing this.

 

“I mean – just . . . you know what you’re doing,” she says, her cheeks flaming. “It feels good.”

 

“Thanks,” he says, sounding more than a little bit amused. She can’t help herself. She laughs, too, and that’s what really gets Peeta going. His head actually drops down, forehead resting against her shoulder. She can feel him laughing. He’s practically shaking with it. “I try. You should have told me you were so tense, though. I’m sure we could have worked some of this out earlier.”

 

“Didn’t really realize,” she says. “Our bed is so soft and – _oh_!” he stops instantly when she squeaks. “It’s a little sore there.”   
  


“Okay. Sorry,” he says, fingertips just ghosting over the area so that he can continue elsewhere. He’s moved up to the base of her neck now, and she feels like she’s about to turn to jelly under his touch. “Better?”

 

She nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You earned it. It’s like I said last night. You’re a champion.”

She wants to make comment about how they weren’t being mean to _her_ , but then she remembers the shouting match that they overheard at the bakery that morning – and more specifically, how Peeta had somehow both paled and looked very embarrassed – and decides against it, leaning back into his hands and enjoying this moment, instead.

* * *

Things are nice. So nice, that she almost feels sick when he gets up out of the bed that night and leaves his phone unattended. She doesn’t mean to look over at it, but it’s shining brightly and she can’t quite make out what it is out of the corner of her eye. So she looks away from her letter to Prim for just a second. But that’s long enough.

It’s a train ticket. Just one. She doesn’t have time to study it – Peeta is coming back with the bank card in hand – but she definitely sees the stop in District Twelve. And she feels sick. She tries to focus on her letter, but the pencil presses too hard against the paper and the graphite breaks. She isn’t too upset about it, though. She feels more numb than anything when she drops the notepad and pencil off the edge of the bed, so it sits on the floor, and pulls the blankets up on her head. She’s practically hiding. But hopefully Peeta will think she’s just trying to get some sleep.

He’s sending her back. Can he do that? She’s heard of divorce in an Ordered Spouse relationship, but they’re very rare. Has he realized, watching his parents, that he’s going to get tired of her eventually? Her bottom lip trembles, and she’s embarrassed, because she should want to go back, right?

He said he wants children, she thinks weakly, in some pathetic attempt to console herself. Maybe he’ll find them a more suited mother.

“Are you tired already?” Peeta asks from his side of the bed. He sounds much too chipper. He must think that she hasn’t noticed. Will he wait until the ticket gets here, then? Or until they’re on the way to the station? She shakes her head. She’ll wait. She’ll make him tell her.

“Katniss,” he sing-songs, just the same way that he did when he chased her through the house. She’s not sure why it gets to her, him saying her name that way. Why does he think he can just act like he wants her?   
  
How can he not want her, so suddenly? Things were so good. Her bottom lip trembles and she feels pathetic.

“Why are you hiding?” he asks gently.

She doesn’t answer.

“You’re scaring me, Katniss,” he says, his voice quiet. Very serious. “What’s the matter?”

 

“I wasn’t trying to look at your phone,” she says, voice wobbling. She screws her eyes shut, embarrassed.

“At my phone?” he asks. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it,” he says. Then it’s quiet for a second. “What did you see? The ticket?”

How is he so casual about it?

“I didn’t want to go behind your back about it. It’s just, well, we were just talking Prim, and you really seem to miss her –”

He thinks he’s being kind, sending her home. She’s mortified when a tear slips out.

“I’m sorry.”

 

She’s not sure what she’s sorry for. Not sure what she did, other than spy on him. But she can’t think of anything that would make him want to send her back.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it from you or anything. I just thought . . . well, I wanted to surprise you. Wait until you were writing your next letter to Prim and sneak it onto the table beside you. I don’t know. I just figured – with you being so good about my family, the least I could do would be to arrange for yours to come here.”

Come here. Prim. He wants Prim here. He’s not sending her away. “It’s not for me?” she asks. She rolls over to look at him, and he looks so concerned that she feels almost guilty.

“No. I thought . . . well, I thought it might be easier if she were to visit with us. That way, well, it’s just the one ticket, but we also don’t have to worry about food, or where to stay. Plus – and I could be completely off base here – I thought you might like not having to split your time. Just get to visit with her. But if you’d rather go, I’m sure we could –”

“No.” He’s rooted himself in her so deeply, now. She doesn’t want to leave him behind. But shouldn’t she? “Sending Prim here is . . . very kind of you, Peeta. Thank you.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Peeta says with a little smile that she tries to return. The knot in her stomach won’t go away, though. Maybe Peeta can tell. He rubs at her back absently while she stares at the wall, trying to sleep. It doesn’t help. She really can’t enjoy it. She’s thinking much too hard.   
  
  


* * *

He gets rid of her in her dream that night. Hands her father’s hunting bag over and leads her onto a train, saying that it’ll be easier this way, even as she begs for him to not send her back to Twelve.

 

She watches him through the window as the train roars to life, hands pressed against the glass as she tries desperately to call for him. To change his mind. He can’t hear her, so it’s pointless, but she still screams for him as she watches him shrink smaller and smaller with the distance between them.

 

* * *

 

He’s the one that draws her out of the nightmare, speaking softly and gathering her into his arms even as her body wracks with sobs. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

 

He lets her cry. She’s sure that she’s making his shirt wet, but he doesn’t seem concerned with that at all. He just keeps talking. She can’t even really hear him, but she knows that he’s trying to calm her, and just that thought sort of works. She slumps against him, feeling him run his fingers through her hair. He’s being gentle. _So_ gentle. As always.

 

“Just try to breathe, okay?” he asks. “In and out. In – there you go, that’s right – and out.”

 

Her sobs begin to slow as she tries to focus on breathing. On how he smells, like laundry detergent and a faint smell of cinnamon and dill that can’t possibly be from baking. She sucks in greedy lungful after lungful, wanting to memorize everything about this beautiful, kind boy, who comforts her even when he doesn’t know why she’s crying. How could she tell him?

 

She hiccups, and Peeta’s hands leave her hair.

 

“I’m going to get you something to drink, okay?” he asks, but doesn’t move for a long moment. Probably because she’s still pressed against him. “Do you want to come with me?”

 

She shakes her head. Pulls away, just far enough for him to get out, and sits with her back against the headboard and her head in her hands while he’s gone, pretending that it might be to block out the light when he turns it on. She can hear him moving around. Like he’s trying to hurry.

 

_Just a dream, she tries to remind herself. He’s not getting rid of you. You’re not going anywhere._

 

He isn’t gone for very long, but he comes up with two mugs of hot chocolate, offering her one and then – very carefully – climbing up to sit cross-legged on the bed in front of her.  She looks down at her mug, watching the steam rise up. After a long moment, he clears his throat.

 

“You, ah, you called for me,” he says, very quietly.

 

“Sorry,” she says. Her voice trembles, and she gulps down some of her drink even though it’s too hot. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

 

“I think we’re past that,” he says kindly, reaching out and touching her foot. It’s covered by the blanket, but the little squeeze is still comforting. “I was awake, anyway. Thinking. About earlier.”

 

It’s quiet for a long moment. She bites her bottom lip, hard.

 

“I thought . . . sending Prim here, I thought it would make you happy.”

 

“It did,” she says. “It did make me happy. And it’s very generous of you. Thank you.”

 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re still so sad. And the only thing I could think of . . . why you’d be so sad – you didn’t think I was sending you away, did you?” he asks. “I know you said you didn’t want to. But if . . . well, if you’d rather . . . I understand.”    
  
He does seem to understand, but he also looks . . . she’s not sure what. Heartbroken, maybe.

That does it. She thought she had finished crying, but another tear slips out. “I don’t want you to send me. Don’t want to leave you. This.” She gestures around encompassingly, worrying that she looks frantic. “Here. Our home.”

 

She’s trying not to look at him, but when he’s silent, she can’t help but to glance over at the devastated expression on his face.

“You thought I wanted you to go away,” he guesses. 

She nods, ashamed. “I was afraid. That you were . . . that you were getting tired of me.”

 

“Oh, Katniss. My beautiful, silly Katniss,” he says gently, and he sounds sad. “I could never get tired of you.”

 

She wipes at her eyes.

 

“You don’t want to go back?” he asks.

 

“Not without you.” It’s true. She wants to stay here. Wants to be _his Katniss_.

 

He lets out a shaky little sigh. A breath that she didn’t realize he was holding, maybe. “Oh, thank God,” he says. “I’m afraid I love you too much to let you go.”

 

It’s quiet. Peeta’s eyes are locked on hers, as if waiting for her reaction. But she can barely even process what he’s just said. Love you too much to let you go. Too much to let you go. Love you. Too much. “You love me?” she asks, her voice just a whisper.

 

“Yes,” he says without a moment of hesitation. “I do. My life . . . my life is so much better with you in it, Katniss.”

She watches him for a long moment, mouth half open in surprise. “I . . .”

“Don’t – please don’t say it because you feel like you have to. That’s not why I said it. I said it because it’s true. And . . . because I feel like you might need to know that, if you think I’m gonna be able to get rid of you that easily.”

She wets her lips. “I meant it, about not wanting to leave you,” she murmurs. “I think . . . I think you’re home for me, now.”

Maybe it’s the tears in her eyes, but Peeta looks close to crying, too. “Thank you, Katniss,” he says, reaching out to take her empty mug. He gulps the rest of his down and  stands to sets them both on the end table and turn the light off before he joins her in the bed. Tonight really is a special occasion if he’s not going to bring the dirty dishes down to the kitchen.    
  
  
“You were so far away tonight,” he murmurs. “Will you c’mere?”  
  
  
She nods, backing up to rest against his chest. His arms go around her instantly.  
  
  
“I should brush my teeth,” she says, even though she has no motivation to move.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Peeta says, and she surprises them both by laughing. Peeta laughs, too, she really can’t help herself up to scoot up a little bit. He looks concerned when she turns over, like he can’t figure out what she’s doing, but that melts away when she kisses him. He watches her for a long moment after she pulls away. She’s breathing a little bit heavier than she should, which feels strange, since this wasn’t even the most intense of their kisses.

He seems pretty pleased by it, too.  
  


Somewhere between awake and asleep, she starts to think of her mother. Of how useless she became when her father dies. Is that what it would mean, loving Peeta?  but the thought is cut off, very abruptly, with a more pleasant one. Several of them, back to back.

  
Peeta playing with her. Chasing her through the house and making her laugh. Baking with him. Kissing him in dozens of different ways. How he makes her feel, when he lifts her up onto the counter and looks at her like she’s the most exquisite being in the whole of creation. Maybe that’s how Dad looked at Mom, she thinks, and then shakes her head, as if in an attempt to dislodge the thought. Peeta won’t go to the mines. She won’t go to the mines. They’re safe here.   
  


“Goodnight, Peeta,” she says, rolling back onto her side so that she can get back into her comfortable position. She feels him lazily tracing patterns on her back through her shirt and sighs contently.

“Goodnight, Katniss,” he returns. “Sweet dreams, okay?”

She nods, sort of smiling at his playful concern. At the genuine sweetness at the comment. “Okay. You too.”

She doesn’t have any more dreams, but that seems about as good as having sweet ones. She’s just warm and comfortable and safe, cocooned in her husband’s arms. That’s more than enough.   
  


* * *

  
  
  
She never lounged around in bed in District Twelve. Sometimes, if she was very sick, her sister would try to forbid her from getting up. But it never worked. There was always too much to do. Staying still meant almost certain starvation for her family. This morning is different. She can hear Peeta moving around downstairs, and though she can’t really remember when he got out of bed, she does remember convincing him to stay a little longer with a tug at his shirt that was completely childish but served to make him laugh and - even better - stay with her a little while longer.   
  
His side of the bed is still warm, and the pillow still sort of smells like him. She knows this because when he did finally manage to sneak out, she had migrated over to his side of the bed. It takes a couple of moments for her to realize why she’s still so tired. Of course, she didn’t get much sleep last night. Last night. The thought sends a rush of warmth through her. She’s not sure that the heat can be attributed to the embarrassment that she feels about sobbing that way in front of him.   
  
She wonders what it was that made him get up. Even just dangling her feet over the side of the bed seems like a lot of work this morning, she’s so warm and sleepy. Until she remembers what it was that he did for her last night. Shouldn’t he be tired, too? He stayed up with her. Made hot chocolate. Comforted her. Said that she was his Katniss and that he’d never get sick of her. That he loves her.   
  
That’s the part that sounds like a dream. She might even be able to convince herself that it was if she didn’t so clearly remember the twisting pain in her sides from the sobbing. Her lips twitch up into a smile. He loves her?   
  
Prim signs her letters with Love, Prim, but that’s not the same. And neither were the frantic I love yous that were exchanged in the privacy of the bedroom those last few minutes that they had together before she was sent here. And those didn’t send this strange flutter running through her. The same one that she felt when he said that she was his Katniss. One that might have been indignant, back in District Twelve, but now surfaces as delight. No. That’s not quite the right word. She’s almost dizzy with happiness just at the memory. How is it that just earlier that same night she had herself convinced that he didn’t want her?   
  
  
He left a pile of his clothes on the floor in front of the dresser, and even though it’s exactly the sort of thing she would laugh at someone else for doing before she understood, she pulls his shirt on. The fabric of the tee shirt is soft against her skin in a way that even the sleeping shirts he’s bought her aren’t. Maybe they haven’t been washed as many times.   
  
At any rate, his shirts are an improvement. Hers don’t smell quite as good as his do. It’s long enough on her to cover her sleeping shorts, but she doesn’t mind. She ducks into the bathroom and gets ready for the day, but her eyes linger on her reflection. She’s stared at herself more, she thinks, in the weeks that she’s been here, than in the years that she lived in District Twelve. But there’s something different now. Something different, and yet exactly the same.   
  
She brushes her hair two, three times, just because she’s moving so slowly this morning. She considers braiding it, but at the last minute decides that she should leave it down. For him.   
  
She doesn’t see his glasses anywhere. He’s probably skipped the contact lenses for her again. A little laugh slips out at the thought. He loves her. No wonder he was so willing to put up with his mother’s criticism without complaint.   
  


She wonders, staring at her reflection, what’s different, and what’s the same. It’s becoming a little bit harder to separate this new version of herself that he’s coaxed out from the girl that she was in District Twelve. She looks . . . healthier, for one. But there’s something else. Something different that she can’t write off as being because of her recently filled out cheeks.   
  
She’s not sure what it is. She thinks of her mother’s favorite compliment, whether she gave it to a blushing bride on the day of her toasting or to a pregnant woman who came in to be checked before she gave birth. Why, you’re absolutely glowing. Katniss has never much understood it, but there’s a little twitch of a smile in her lips. Something softer - and brighter, almost - about her eyes.   
  
What would her mother think of Peeta? Or of how Katniss is around him? That seems to be the real question. Because she can’t bring herself to care what it is that her mother -- or anyone, for that matter, including his family -- thinks of Peeta. Because he’s hers. Just as surely as she’s his Katniss, he’s her Peeta. She wonders how long it’s been like that. How long she’s had him.   
  
What’s taking him so long in the kitchen? When did it get to the point where him being just down the stairs seems like it’s too far away?   
  


* * *

  
  
She manages to sneak down undetected - thanks to the squeaky step that she carefully avoids - and leans in the entryway to the kitchen. Peeta is at the countertop, kneading at some dough. She’s not sure what to think of the way her heart starts to pound in her chest at the sight of him, muscles barely covered in a tight shirt she’s not sure she’s ever seen him in before. He’s absorbed in his work, and she’s not complaining about the chance to watch him, because she’s suddenly not sure what she’s supposed to do. Or say. All she can think about is how she feels when she gets the chance to stare at him. How special she feels, being the one to share this house with him. To wake up beside him in the mornings. To . . . to be loved by him, and for him to expect nothing in return, even though she wishes that she could give him the sun and stars.

  
She opens her mouth. Wets her lips. No words come out, exactly . . . So instead, she closes the distance between them, wraps her arms around him, and buries her face in his back as soon as he’s calmed from the initial scare. His hands comes down and rest on hers, where they’re clasped in front of him.   
  
“You startled me,” he says, and the sound of his voice doesn’t help the way that her heart seems to be trying to beat out of her chest. If anything, it makes matters worse.   
  
“Sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just . . . I’ve been thinking.”   
  
“Yeah?” he asks, sounding sort of amused. She can picture the look on his face perfectly, which kind of ruins her hope of this being easier if she doesn’t have to look at him.   
  
“I . . . can’t imagine my life without you,” she continues, because she doesn’t want to talk herself out of it. “I don’t even want to. It’s . . . horrible. And you make me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. And you didn’t expect me to say it back right away but I . . . I want to.”   
  
It’s so quiet that she can hear him when he swallows hard. But then he’s frozen. As if he doesn’t want to disturb the moment.   
  
“I’m not good at -- at this. Or at . . . saying what I mean.”   
  
He takes a breath, as if he’s about to argue with her. And that’s no good. She can’t let him distract her.   
  
“And it’s not like . . . I don’t know a lot about this. I thought that Prim was the only person I loved. And then you had to go and wear me down.”   
  
He lets out a tiny little laugh. It sounds . . . very close to insecure. As if he thinks that she’s saying something bad.   
  
“But . . . I . . .” she clears her throat. The words stick together when they come out, all one big breathless rush. “I do. I love you.”  
  


It's as if he can't help himself after that. He turns and kisses her, hands going to her hair instantly. She doesn't mind. Her hands tangle in his, as well, and he lets out a strange half sigh, half groan when she accidentally pulls at it.   
  
“I was afraid,” he admits, forehead resting against hers. “So afraid that I had ruined everything.”   
  
“No. It just took me a minute,” she says. “Is there a reason you left me alone up there?”   
  
“Breakfast,” he says. “I didn’t get very far. Like I said, I was afraid.”   
  
She can’t help herself but to smile. “What are you making?”  
  
“I, ah, I thought you might want something to remind you that you belonged here,” he says, and she can’t tell if he’s turning pink from the kissing or because he’s embarrassed. “So it’s our bread. It still has to rise, but I was going to make some bacon and eggs to go with it when it was finished.”   
  
“You're my favorite,” she says, and she means for it to be sweet, but it ends up making them both laugh. She's not good with words like Peeta is.

  
He kisses her again. Leisurely, almost. Like they have all the time in the world. She guesses that they do. “Don't have much competition in the husband department.”  
  


“No. You don't have much competition anywhere,” she corrects.  
  


“Killing me,” he murmurs when she changes course and starts kissing down his jawline.

  
“I think – I think it's been like this for a while,” she admits. “Which is weird. I didn’t give myself permission to . . . to love you.”   
  
He laughs again, sounding so genuinely happy. “Say it again?” he asks.   
  
“I think it’s your turn to say it,” she returns. And he does. Over and over again. **  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love in my heart to Gentlmama for betaing, and to Greenwool and ModernlifeofAsh for prereading. And to sothere for inadvertently (or maybe completely advertently) inspiring a whole new story arc. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been brewing in my mind for a while now and gone through several different versions until I saw something about Mail Order Brides on my Tumblr as I scrolled through, lost the post, and rushed over to TV Tropes. Which is not to say that I'm not still planning on writing my long-planned Timer adaptation, just that if you see two arranged marriage fics from me this year, this is why.  
> That said, I am not planning on having regular updates for this one the way that I did for A King On A Rusty Throne for a few reasons, one being that I found myself cranking out chapters that were considerably shorter than I'd like them to be and way, way less edited than I should have had them just because I was trying to stick to a schedule. I am planning on several chapters for this story, but I'm not making any promises on when they'll get out for the sake of my own sanity.  
> Please let me know what you think!  
> The title is from "The City" by Ed Sheeran, because I am practically incapable to titling stories with anything other than song lyrics.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just Like Heaven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250394) by [lesbianophelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia)




End file.
